


Twisting Vines

by Kai_ROz



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Slow Burn, Slow burn adjacent, The Wine AU you never knew you didn't want, an enemies to lovers with no attempted murder unfortunately, maybe some karaoke, there will be angst, this may be the worst AU idea ever, two wineloving idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kai_ROz/pseuds/Kai_ROz
Summary: “You can’t be serious, Bill.”“I’m perfectly serious. She’s one of the biggest names in the business, a positive word from her would go a long way to getting this place back on the right track.”“I don’t want or need anything from her.”“If you say so. But I think you’re making a mistake.”“So be it. There will be plenty of time for me to rub her stupid, smug review into her stupid, smug face.”ORMy version of a Killing Eve meets Sideways AU. No Paul Giamatti included.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 421
Kudos: 749





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this AU idea in my head for a while. With Carolyn's Chablis line in S3E7, I decided I had to do it.
> 
> If there was ever an AU no one asked for, enemies-to-loves in the wine business may be it!
> 
> This will most likely be around 15 chapters, give or take.
> 
> A few things to keep in mind at the start. This first chapter is set in August 2019, dates are going to be fairly important for winemaking purposes.
> 
> I'm going to list a particular wine at the start of each chapter that I think represents the mood of the POV character. FYI, I'm going to flip between Eve and Villanelle's POVs, but it will not always be a 1 for 1. It will depend on who needs to push the story forward.
> 
> This first chapter is from Eve's POV, and she is definitely giving off young Syrah vibes. Tightly wound, slightly peppery, a bit bitter and tannic.
> 
> Here's hoping you enjoy this! I figured we could all use an excuse to drink a bit more during the hiatus and after that emotional S3 finale.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 1: Disgorging

“Eve …”

The voice comes through as a whisper but it still cuts through her hazy dreaming. Eve rolls over toward the voice and forces out a sleepy groan. As she finally opens her eyes, she finds three faces staring down at her, each closer to her than the last.

_“Ahhhhhhh!”_

“Happy divorce day!” They shout in unison.

Eve grabs her duvet and covers her head, trying to will the intruders away. 

“What the fuck are you all doing in my bedroom?”

Bill pulls at the covers forcefully.

“Come on, Eve. We’re here to celebrate.”

Eve glances over to the clock on her nightstand. It shows 07:37.

“Bill, you’re such a prick. This is my one day.”

As a winemaker, Eve is up at dawn most days. It doesn’t help that she lives on her vineyard. Everything about her job dominates every waking second of her day. Except Mondays, she gives herself Mondays to sleep in.

“Well it isn’t every day that you finalise a divorce from a soul-sucking vampire, is it?”

Bill never minces words when it comes to Niko. Eve remembers all the nights they sat together outside on the terrace, ruminating over glasses of vintage burgundy and Bill rattling through every expletive in the book as they discussed Eve’s very soon-to-be ex-husband. He is always right in the end.

Eve’s marriage to Niko Polastri was not some sort of fairytale romance. They’d met while Eve was still an apprentice and associate winemaker in Champagne, under the tutelage of her mentor, Carolyn Martens. Niko was on a tour with his family’s company as they tasted their way across the most prestigious wineries in France. While she was tending to the vines, she’d caught him dozing off on his feet during one of Carolyn’s musings on the parallels of wine and opera. When Eve poured the Champagnes for the tour group at the end of the visit, she joked to Niko about his lack of enthusiasm. They spent the rest of that afternoon talking.

A perfectly adequate yet uninspired two-year courtship followed and they married in 2010. Eve should have known then that it would never work. She should have run as fast as she could in the other direction that first time they met. Niko had admitted to her that, despite his silver spoon birth into one of the world’s largest wine producing companies, Polastri Wine Group, he hated wine. Back then, she found it endearing and almost sweet that Niko wasn’t interested in the finer points of the art of winemaking. 

Over time, she grew to hate his lack of knowledge and resented him for her fall from the top of the wine world. And Eve Polastri is a perfectionist, or she used to be. She lost that sharpness under the thumb of a husband and boss more interested in corporate profits than quality.

“Hello? Earth to Eve.” Elena cut through Eve’s thoughts as she feels hands on her cheeks. 

“Ugh. Alright. Will you at least let me get dressed first?”

“Sure, babe. We’ll leave you to it.”

Eve watches her friends leave the room and starts to get herself out of bed. She is grateful that they have been so supportive in the last year. She’s been put through the ringer during the divorce process. From the day she read that article and stormed into Niko’s office demanding she be put out of her misery, working through the finer points of their prenuptial agreement was excruciating. 

Ultimately, her lawyer was able to secure the winery for Eve in lieu of intellectual property interests, or claims to alimony and other support. That was fine by Eve. She can make more money, but she has grown attached to the vineyard and her vision of what it can still become.

Eve heads to the bathroom to shower and prepares herself for the day.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In her kitchen, she finds Bill at the stove with a pan of freshly scrambled eggs. Kenny and Elena are already sitting around the table. It’s covered with pastries, fresh fruit, cheeses and a champagne bucket.

“Wow. You guys really went all out.”

“This isn’t just about you, Eve. We’re also finally rid of that dick swab.”

Eve laughs at Bill’s crude but honest remark and joins her friends at the table.

“Should we open the champagne?” Elena is a bit too eager for 8 in the morning.

“I probably shouldn’t drink before I sign the last of the papers. I’m supposed to meet Niko and the lawyers in London this afternoon.”

“Come on, live a little. We brought your favorite.”

“Selosse? Really?”

“Yeah. So if you don’t drink it, you owe me 200 quid,” Bill says as he walks over to the table with the eggs.

“Say no more. Pour me a glass.”

Kenny reaches over to pull the bottle from the bucket and pops the cork.

Eve scoops some eggs on her plate and grabs a croissant from the center of the table.

Bill raises his glass and the rest of the table joins. “A toast. Here’s to Eve. May her future of freedom be filled by great wine and great friends.”

“To Eve.” They clink their glasses together.

“Thanks.” 

The group eats breakfast and sips on their drinks in silence until Kenny cuts in.

“So, uh, are you going to tell us the plan, Eve?”

Eve doesn’t have a plan yet. She’s got plenty of ideas, none of which are quite good enough to make the impression she needs. Eve needs her re-launch into the world of fine wine to be perfect. She still has scars from the shot her reputation had suffered at the hands of a self-important wine critic just over a year ago. Even thinking about the article makes her stomach churn and twist into knots.

That was the final straw for her marriage. A few weeks ago, while she was inspecting her new fermentation tanks, Eve caught herself thinking that the article may have been the best thing that had happened to her in years. She might have even thanked the author, Villanelle, if she hadn’t felt so fucking exposed by the words she saw on the page. What kind of name is _Villanelle_ anyway? 

“I’m still working out the details.”

“You have no fucking clue do you?” Bill raises a shaggy eyebrow and he stares directly at Eve.

“Nope. Not a fucking clue.”

“Then you’re definitely paying me for the Selosse. We’re going to be out on our arses in short order.”

“You don’t even work here, Bill.”

“Exactly. All the more reason for you to figure out your next steps so you can actually afford to pay me for my time.”

Eve picks up her glass and takes a large swig. “So far, I’ve decided we should have a re-launch party. I’m thinking just after harvest.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s all I’ve got.” Eve feels her brow starting to crinkle with worry.

“Ok, boss. We can work with this,” Elena cuts in. “I’ll arrange a caterer. Kenny, you can hire a band. And Bill will make the guest list. All you’ll have to do is show up.”

Elena is the best hire Eve ever made. When she knew she would start her own winery, Eve spent weeks unsuccessfully searching for a business manager. Luckily, Elena visited the winery on a weekend girls’ trip and they hit it off. The next day, Eve had a resume in her inbox and hired Elena on the spot.

“Thanks, Elena.”

“It’s what I’m here for.”

“Make sure you buy yourself some new clothes for the occasion too.” Bill says it playfully through a mouthful of eggs, but Eve knows he means every word.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you dress like you raided the closet of a sad schoolteacher.”

Eve scoffs at the insult.

“Excuse me for favoring comfort and practicality.” 

Eve works in the vineyard or cellar everyday. Some days she prunes or wraps the vines or cuts away the overgrowth. Other times she spends entire days in the cellar, meticulously turning rows upon rows of bottles, spinning each fermenting bottle of wine with a single, clockwise quarter turn.

“It wouldn’t hurt to show a little skin and help yourself sell some wine. No one wants to buy sexy sparkling wines from a lady in a turtleneck.”

Bill does make a point. She can’t remember the last time she bought a new dress. When she and Niko were still together, she never went to the corporate events. He put on his executive act while she stayed back and worked on her wines. From time to time, Eve would attend charity events or galas, but those were rare. Her place was out in the sun wearing boots caked with years of dried mud and dirt under her fingernails. It was the only good thing about their relationship.

“I’ll think about it.” 

Eve turns her thoughts back toward the day’s tasks. She will be gone most of the day and there’s so much to do to prepare for harvest.

“While I’m gone, please make sure the sorting machine and press are cleaned.”

“We’ll take care of everything, Eve. You don’t have to worry about anything today.” Elena rests her hand on top of Eve’s as she speaks.

Her words are comforting but Eve can’t relax, won’t relax, until she gets through the next two months. Her career depends on it. She needs to prove that she is still a serious winemaker, always was a serious winemaker. Eve needs people to know she is better than that article and the diluted wines of her ex-husband’s company.

“As much as I’d like to sit here all day and drink with all of you, I better get moving and there’s work to be done in the vineyards. Kenny, make be sure to check the forecast projections. Also, test the sugars of the southwest bloc. I’d rather we pick a little early than lose too much acidity.”

“Will do.”

Kenny is the only person from the Polastri Wine Group days that Eve kept on her team. Despite his analytical and technology-based approach to winemaking, he is honest and eager to learn. She’s also learned from Kenny and found that some of his computer models are quite useful to her process. While Eve relies on her intuition for each decision she makes with her grapes, it’s reassuring that Kenny’s programs often support her picking choices.

“Ok, you all really need to leave now. I have to finish getting ready.”

“We’re getting drunk when you get back.”

“I know, Bill. So you better save me that Selosse.”

They wish Eve luck and make their exits. With her friends off to perform the day’s tasks, Eve pours herself a cup of coffee and walks to her terrace for a few moments of solitude. 

This was never Eve’s plan. She had always planned to stay in Champagne, buy a small parcel of land and make her wines exactly the way she wanted, the perfect expression of the soil, sunlight, wind, and weather. But she was young and she thought she was in love.

Just after they married, Niko pitched the idea of Kent as a, “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to put English sparkling wine on the map.” He’d also convinced her that it would be too difficult for her to stay in Champagne, that she was an outsider there and would never be able to afford her own vineyard. Eve took the bait. 

She was promised complete creative control of everything from the building of the winery itself to the style of wine they made. But at every turn during the construction of the winery, Eve’s ideas were met with a “no” or a “not really what we’re going for.” During the early years, when the vines took time to grow and weren’t capable of making wine, Eve bought grapes from farmers she respected and managed to turn out a few decent wines. Decent is not good enough for Eve. Those memories still grate her. She should have stayed in Champagne, she could have done so much more.

Eve is determined to make the most of this re-launch.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She pulls back into the gravel drive of the winery. Finalising the divorce today hadn’t been that difficult, but Eve was drained nonetheless. Nine years of marriage does that to a person, especially when you lose sight of who you are in the process. She keeps reminding herself that so long as she remains focused, gets back to the basics of why she fell in love with wine, everything will fall into place. 

At least that’s what her friends tell her and what all that introspective bullshit suggests you say. Truthfully, Eve is really fucking scared for what comes next. This will be the first time she’s stood on her own in the wine business. When she started apprenticing with Carolyn in 2000, she was still young and full of passion. Eve poured everything she had into the experience and earned a role as associate winemaker within three years. She actually dreamt one day she would buy the vineyard from Carolyn, but Eve didn’t stick around long enough for that to happen. 

The memories taste bitter in her mouth. Eve is determined to make a go of this now. She will craft a unique sparkling wine in Kent, something that speaks to the terroir of her one little slice of earth. She is going to prove that Eve Polastri hasn’t lost the plot.

Walking toward the house, she waves to Bill, Kenny and Bear, all working in the vineyard. Inside, Elena is stationed at her desk, clicking furiously at the keys on her laptop.

“Hey, boss. How’d it go?”

“As expected.” Eve is still trying to work out how to make things right. She can feel her brows furrow at her reflexive answer.

“How are you holding up?”

“Honestly, I’m fine. But I could use a drink … and maybe a cigarette?”

“You don’t even smoke, Eve.” Elena chuckles her response and it takes some of the weight out of the room.

“Now seems as good a time as any to pick up a few bad habits.”

The door opens behind them as the guys shuffle through.

“What bad habits are you picking up?” Of course Bill heard what Eve had said and couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, you know. Smoking and drinking. Maybe a little murder. And lots of sex. The usual things for a divorcee.” Eve pops her should as she speaks to emphasize her blasé attitude.

“As your best friend, I support you. So long as I’m not the one being murdered.”

“I suppose I can manage that.”

“So, who’s ready for karaoke?” Bill wiggles his eyebrows.

“I changed my mind. I am going to murder you.”

“Loosen up. You know you love karaoke.”

“Yeah, Eve. It’ll be good for you.” Elena bumps her elbow into Eve’s arm, attempting to induce her submission to karaoke.

 _“Uhhh._ Fine. But I am not singing another Disney duet with you, Bill.”

“We’ll just see where the night takes us.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s now 2 in the morning and the final embers of Eve’s divorce party are dying. Bear left hours ago, saying something about stopping for Haribo on the ride home. Kenny and Elena were both passed out in Eve’s living room. She watched them suspiciously all night, waiting for Kenny to make his move. The poor guy missed every sign Elena had given him as he descended further under the fog toward wine drunk.

Just Eve and Bill are left, sitting on the terrace and talking over a bottle Meursault. 

“Answer me truthfully, Bill. Am I fucked?”

Bill takes a moment to take a hard, half-drunk look at Eve and puts on his serious face.

“No. Of course not. You are far too talented for that. This place will be the talk of the wine world in no time.”

“You honestly think so?”

“Hell no. It’s Kent. No one actually takes us seriously down here.” He pulls her in for a hug. “But maybe you can change that.”

“I want to do that. I can see it all in my head. I just don’t know if people will be willing to give me another chance.”

“As the saying goes, you don’t know until you try.”

Eve pulls away from the embrace and reaches for her wine glass.

“If only I hadn’t given in on so many things over the years. I thought I was doing the right things for the company, for my marriage.”

“There’s still time to sort it out.”

“Uh huh.”

“Have you thought up a name yet?”

“No. I can’t think of anything that really fits this place or fits me.”

“Well you better figure it out soon. I need to send out invitations to your esteemed guests.”

“You can’t rush this process. This is going to set the tone for everything. It’s got to be perfect.”

“Listen, Eve. I know wine is our livelihood and all, but at the end of the day, they’re just grapes. No one gives a toss.”

“I do, Bill! My reputation is hanging by a thread.” Eve puts her glass back on the table, just a bit too hard.

“It doesn’t though.”

“You wouldn’t understand. You didn’t have to read a review about how terrible you are from some self-righteous, know nothing critic.”

“It was one article, almost a year ago, and under drastically different circumstances.”

“Of course you don’t get it.” She points a finger toward Bill. “No one ever had a bad thing to say about your wines.”

“That’s only because I was smart and sometimes fucked a scorer for a few extra points.”

Eve can’t help but laugh and shake her head at that.

“Can I make a suggestion at least?”

“What is it?”

“Why don’t you invite her to your re-launch? Show her that she was wrong about you.”

“You can’t be serious, Bill.”

“I’m perfectly serious. She’s one of the biggest names in the business, a positive word from her would go a long way to getting this place back on the right track.”

“I don’t want or need anything from her.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re making a mistake.”

“So be it. There will be plenty of time for me to rub her stupid, smug review into her stupid, smug face.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavy on Villanelle backstory. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I know I said I was planning on 15 chapters for this story, but I think it may push closer to 18-20. So hang in there with me.
> 
> The wine that describes V in this chapter is Chardonnay, specifically a White Burgundy from the Côte Chalonnaise. These Chardonnays have some of that rich, creaminess from oak aging, but can also have very intense mineral line that cuts through everything. The pervasive minerality is quite similar to Villanelle's matter-of-fact approach to life.

# Chapter 2: Maturation

Villanelle works very hard. She is also educated, stylish and secretly a bit of a romantic. But above all else, she’s a hard worker. She has always believed that in life you get a handful of serendipitous, symphonic moments that can change everything, but only if you put in the work to get there. Thus far, she’s only had two such moments, and because they are so few and far between, Villanelle never denies herself the things she wants in life.

Her first life altering experience happened during her first year in London for university. Having virtually raised herself in small town outside of Moscow, Villanelle moved to London with plans to completely remake herself. That was why she worked so hard and spent so much time hitting the books in secondary school, learning as much she could, particularly languages. French had been her favourite, so she introduced herself to London classmates as Villanelle rather than Oksana Astankova. 

Villanelle was posh as fuck when she turned up in London. She dressed in designer clothes, thanks to Oksana’s almost alarmingly adept shoplifting skills, and carried herself around campus with an arrogance that led most to assume she was related to some unknown oligarch or some other outlandish backstory. She found that other students were especially intimidated by her collection of stylish yet outrageous pants suits. During her second year at university, Villanelle wore pants suits to class every day for an entire semester just to watch everyone’s reactions.

To further her new persona, Villanelle had also decided to join the university’s wine club even though she never drank wine in her then 17 years of life. Villanelle had always been told that wine was a drink for those highbrow, pinky-in-the-air types. What she remembers of her own childhood, which she hated, is that her father often spent the last of his paychecks on cheap vodka and cigarettes during the times he was around. No one from Oksana’s old life drank wine. So it only made sense that Villanelle would be a wine snob.

She suffered through the first few months of club meetings and had pretended to enjoy what were described as “robust reds” and “floral whites,” but they all just smelled and tasted like wine to her. She quickly became an expert at using the spit bucket and it regularly earned her blunt stares when she would altogether dump full pours into buckets without so much as taking a sip. Every now and then, she would accidentally miss the bucket and let some of her wine fall out onto the shoes of her least favorite classmates. One club member in particular, Aaron Peel, drew Villanelle’s ire over the course of her first year with the club. 

He was a bully and Villanelle stands up to bullies.

“Do you even know how to properly taste wine? Are you capable of understanding or articulating the difference between cabernet and pinot noir,” Aaron scoffed at her.

Villanelle didn’t respond to his attack and it took all her will power not to punch him square in his smug jaw. Instead she stared daggers into his eye and dumper her entire glass of wine right on his shoes. 

Villanelle ruined three pairs of Peel’s ugly brown loafers during her first year. He had in no uncertain terms called Villanelle stupid and unrefined that night, so she really had no choice. Peel was rich and could afford new shoes, though every new pair he bought were equally as ugly.

Then came the revelatory experience in the spring of 2011 during a club meeting where they tasted through various styles of Champagne. 

Villanelle can still remember everything about that experience clearer than any photo she has ever seen. There was one particular bottle of Champagne that caught her eye at the tasting. It had a white label with a hand-drawn crimson red ribbon flowing across it. There was no name on the label, only the location and year. The label itself was so different and vibrant compared to the others displayed next to it. While the rest of the club members were ravenous for Dom Perignon and Krug, Villanelle was in her own world, entranced by the bright yellow liquid from that mysterious bottle. 

As soon as she brought the glass to her nose, she knew she was having one of those special, poetic moments. Scents of strawberries and cream, white peaches and chalk had flooded her nostrils. When she tasted the champagne, the tiniest, microscopic bubbles tickled her lips and tongue. The sensation from the biting acidity after she swallowed had been so seductive and lingered so long after she swallowed, she was absolutely hooked and Villanelle drank the entire bottle by herself.

Back in the dormitory that night, Villanelle spent hours searching the internet for the winemaker behind the Champagne with the red ribbon label. She learned that the liquid gold was the creation of an apprentice at a small grower champagne producer in Ambonnay. The actual vigneron was a British woman named Carolyn Martens, who’d allegedly obtained the property as a gift during a torrid affair with an actual oligarch in the 1980s. She taught herself the champagne method of winemaking, developed her own signature approach in the process and was one of the first women in the region to start bottling and selling her own wines. Apparently, other female winemakers had flocked to Carolyn for apprenticeships over the years as a result, including Eve Polastri. 

Eve was a petite but clearly well muscled and undeniably beautiful Asian woman with the most amazing curly hair. According to her biography on the winery’s website, she had just married the heir to a food and beverage conglomerate. At the time, Villanelle had learned that Eve was labeled as one of the _“10 Women to Watch in Wine”_ in 2008 because her winemaking at Domaine Martens had revolutionized the small grower style of the region. 

Eve had focused almost exclusively on pinot noir grapes and was one of the first to bottle a true zero dosage vintage Champagne during her time as associate winemaker at Martens. Carolyn was so flooded with requests from wine collectors who clamored over her wines that one year she even allowed Eve to make her own using the winery’s extra grapes and equipment. She had only made the Champagne once, in 2004, a particularly special year. The website announced that Eve was set to leave her position as associate winemaker and join her new husband’s company.

It took Villanelle days to get Eve’s wild, dark curls out of her mind. She was so infatuated by the wine and the woman who made it that she spent the last £40 in her bank account to ship a bottle all the way from the winery to her dorm.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After that first defining moment, Villanelle threw all of her time into learning about wine. She took a job as a salesperson at a high-end wine shop in London and spent most of her free time in the store stocking shelves, assisting customers, and tasting wine. She became especially skilled in the art of blind tasting and in those three years that followed, she captained the university’s wine team and earned the nickname “the assassin” for her deadly accuracy at calling wines. 

At her final competition ever, she had the second life-changing experience.

Villanelle had just nailed the final round of tasting for her team, the last wine having been a tricky 1998 Nuits-Saint-Georges 1er Cru Clos de la Maréchale. One of the judges, a wine critic named Konstantin Vasiliev, was so impressed with Villanelle’s tasting ability that he offered her a job with his publication, _The Twelve,_ on the spot. 

Konstantin was immediately enamored with Villanelle’s knowledge and flair for the dramatic, so much so that he made her the lead writer and critic of sparkling wines for the within a year. He became her mentor and friend and encouraged her unique writing style, which was brutally honest but somehow poetic according to Konstantin. It certainly doesn’t hurt that they are both Russian either. 

That was five years ago. Since then, Villanelle put her work ethic to use and established herself as Europe’s foremost expert and most respected writer on champagne and sparkling wines. Now, winemakers beg Villanelle to visit and review their latest bottles while wine geeks eagerly hang on every word she posts or prints. She can single-handedly make or break an entire vintage for a producer based on her articles. It’s an absolute thrill to have so much influence and power.

There are a few small nuisances to the job though. The wine business is rampant with men – crass, old ones in particular. It had initially taken her several months to secure appointments at top wineries in France, Spain and Italy. No one seemed to believe by looking at her that the tall blonde who belonged on the cover of a magazine was able to critically taste and critique the precious wines that they and their crusty old man predecessors had made. 

Villanelle became so annoyed that she started letting herself into wineries, appointment or not. Konstantin wasn’t pleased with that tactic. He sat her down one day tried to scold her about professionalism and breaking and entering, or something like that. 

Those same winemakers now try to buy Villanelle’s favor with offers of dinners at Michelin-starred restaurants and rare, special bottles of meticulously aged wine. 

When she is not working, Villanelle does manage to keep herself entertained. It’s never difficult to pick up a woman, or a man if she is really bored, in a crowded bar at the end of a long day of tasting wines and in desperate need of a palate cleanser. But they are always just that, one night of distracting passion to reset her senses then onto the next appointment in the next city. That’s far better than trying to deal with a relationship that would inevitably sour and turn to vinegar, like a bad opened wine you forget in the fridge.

And she is always on the road, travelling across the world to taste new wines – half the year back and forth through the Northern Hemisphere, the other in the Southern. Not that Villanelle wants to complain about the travel, she loves that part. Especially because she travels in first or business class for any flight she takes. One of the first novel ideas that she pitched to Konstantin was a special monthly article on the blog and or in the magazine rating the wine service of airlines, hotels and certain high-end restaurants. Konstantin loved it and Villanelle loves it more because everyone tries to bribe her with lavished travel arrangements. 

_That_ is the way to win Villanelle’s favor.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, it’s mid-September and she finally has a few weeks to herself at home in her converted industrial London loft. Every September and October, she gets to come home and unwind while the wine world is busy with harvest duties. Konstantin made her volunteer for harvest her first year with The Twelve.

_“If you are going to criticize these people for the rest of your life, you must understand what it takes to do their job.”_

He always has semi-zen, mostly pain in the ass bits of wisdom for Villanelle. She pretends to ignore them because she hates how right he can be.

Her first and last harvest was backbreaking work filled with long, hot days roasting under the late summer sun with a basket strapped to her back and shears in her hand. She still has a few scars from all the blisters and cuts. But none of that work had been a problem. She relished every minute of that work. The only reason it had been her last time working a harvest was because she got caught fucking Anna, wife of hosting winemaker, Max, bent over a wine barrel in the cellar during the end of harvest party. 

Villanelle has been banned from certain domaines in Chablis ever since. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She finishes replying to the last of the comments on her latest website post, Villanelle loves to wind up the trolls. She pushes her chair back from the antique oak desk and heads over to her large, black Eurocave with its tinted glass door to select tonight’s bottle. It’s become a tradition that once a year around this time, Villanelle opens a bottle of 2004 E. Polastri Red Ribbon Brut Zero, orders Thai and stays in to watch a movie from her growing DVD collection. She decides tonight is the perfect night for her annual toast to herself and her hard work even though it is becoming increasingly difficult to open those bottles. She has so few left.

When Villanelle started with The Twelve, Konstantin offered to give her one case of any wine of her choosing as a welcome gift. He had all the key connections in the business and it would be no problem for him to secure a case of Domaine de la Romainée-Conti if she had asked. Instead, she told him to find Eve’s wine.

_“Are you sure? That is what you want?”_

She was sure. But she’d indulged too much when she first received the Champagne and drank four bottles within three months. Five years later, she was about to open bottle number nine. Villanelle would only have three left and the thought of never drinking Eve’s wine again makes her sad. Sad is not something Villanelle is familiar with because she always gets what she wants these days. There is no way to get more of this, no matter how much she wants it.

Villanelle still scours wine shops across the world in search of the Champagne. She has put in requests with all the premium wine shops in London and Paris, worked her connections in the business to find more, hunted through wine auctions for even a single bottle, all to no avail. At some point in her search over the years, Villanelle learned that only six cases of Eve’s Champagne had been made and there was none left on the market. She holds out a glimmer of hope that she will still find one or two bottles, like buried treasure, in some far off restaurant wine list during her globetrotting or in a tiny boutique shop with dust and cobweb covered bottles tucked into its corners. For now, she savors those few precious bottles she has left though they very difficult to resist.

She puts the Champagne in her refrigerator to chill and orders Thai.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pad Thai finished and credits to _Some Like It Hot_ rolling, Villanelle walks back to her refrigerator for the Champagne. She pulls the cold bottle out, wipes the dewy condensation on a tea towel and dislodges the cork. There is still just enough gas left to create a faint pop sound. She pours herself one final glass of Champagne and sighs as she swirls her glass against the concrete kitchen island.

“Here’s to one last taste for another year.”

As Villanelle lets the bubbles tickle her nose, she thinks about the times she has reviewed Eve’s new wines. The Polastri Wine Group conglomerate had acquired several hectares of prime vineyard land in Kent just before English sparkling wine gained a small buzz. Villanelle still isn’t convinced English sparkling wine should be a thing.

Despite her strong opposition to the location, she followed the winery closely in those early days, eager to see what Eve could do with similar terroir and no rules to follow. After several years spent working on building the winery and vineyards and selling decent wines made with purchased grapes, Eve’s first two vintages in Kent were good, not great. But there was undoubtedly something promising in those wines. Villanelle had sensed it and she is never wrong about these things. 

That somehow changed when Niko Polastri, future head of the empire, took over the reigns of the U.K. division of the Polastri Wine Group portfolio. The labels were changed, stylized in an uninventive manner to mimic prestige Champagne houses, the marketing was geared toward the Instagram crowd, and the entire flavor profile for the Polastri sparkling cuvées had been stripped away.

Villanelle remembers last year’s scathing review of the 2015 Polastri Blanc de Blancs. She was so damning in her critique that she gave the wine a “NR” for no rating. Villanelle was admittedly annoyed that Eve Polastri, the vigneron who unknowingly changed her life, had become a cheap corporate sellout. So what if she holds a tiny grudge?

Konstantin tried to force her to rewrite her words or at least tone them down, but Villanelle was adamant that they were published as is. She does not care about making friends in this business, she cares about writing honest commentary. And everything she wrote was true, the wine was disgusting, possibly unfit for human consumption. Villanelle actually performed a valuable public service with her warning.

The accuracy of her writing did not stop Polastri Wine Group from imposing a daunting public relations campaign against Villanelle and The Twelve. Luckily, it had completely backfired and only brought her more fans and praise from the wine world. The only actual fallout was her permanent ban from any and all Polastri properties. 

_What a waste of talent and beauty._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just as Villanelle finishes her evening moisturizing routine, she hears her phone buzzing on her nightstand. She looks at the screen to see that Konstantin is calling.

“Hello.”

“Villanelle. Are you awake?”

“Uhm, yes. That’s why I am talking to you …?”

“Good. I have an assignment for you.”

Villanelle’s ears perk up at the idea of a new writing assignment at this time of year. She is getting bored already.

“Where will I be going this time? To Paris for a grand tasting? Or maybe Tuscany?”

“No. You will be driving to Kent.”

_Excuse me._

“What? Did you say driving? And Kent?”

“Yes. You will drive to Kent next Saturday.”

“I don’t want to drive to Kent. I need time to recover from all of my travel this summer.”

“You do not have a choice, Villanelle. You have to go as the face of sparkling wine for The Twelve. It’s a winery launch event, you like those. So you will go without an argument.”

A winery launch party would be fun. She enjoys any reason to put on a devastating suit and rub elbows over properly catered hors d’oeuvres. Konstantin does not need to know she’s excited though. It’s all part of the little game they play and he is not being very polite about this.

Villanelle pushes out an exasperated huff and rolls her eyes to no one. “Fine. I will go. What is the name of this new winery?”

“It is called The Bridge.”

The Bridge? What kind of unoriginal, American sounding winery name is that? 

“That is a shitty name for a British winery.”

“I know. It is a terrible name. But you will go and play nice and represent my magazine.”

“You should at least say please, Konstantin.”

“I do not need to ask. You are my employee. Besides, I thought you would want to see for yourself what the ‘once promising female talent who lost the plot’ has been up to? They have specifically asked that you attend.”

There is mischief bubbling in his voice and Konstantin knows he really has her hooked now. Villanelle can feel him smirking through the phone.

“She asked for me?” Villanelle playfully makes herself sound overly dramatic and surprised. 

But she is surprised and few things ever manage to surprise her. She’s shocked actually. She is also extremely intrigued by this turn of events.

Konstantin bellows his deep belly laugh in response.

“Yes. I was surprised as well. After the way you dragged her work last year.”

“I did no such thing.” Villanelle pouts her words. “I was honest. Eve was capable of making special wine but then she …”

“Villanelle! You will go and you will behave.”

“Geez. Calm down. I will be on my best behavior.” She won’t.

“No. You won’t.” Villanelle hates that he knows her so well.

“Good night, Konstantin.”

“Good night.”

_Why does Eve want me to come to this party?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're enjoying this. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm on tumblr @ kai-oz23 and twitter @KRKacs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, Villanelle also gets in her own way with her antics.
> 
> When I was writing this chapter, I liked it a lot. After editing and reading it, I'm feeling meh about it. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> The wine for V's POV is a Beaujolais, but definitely NOT that Beaujolais Nouveau junk that comes out every November (no offence). V is giving major Fleurie vibes - super alluring floral aromatics are the hallmarks of the wines (hence the name), as well as the juicy cherry and strawberry qualities of great Gamay. These wines can also be laced with bits of pepperiness and minerality when they are very complex, but they are also incredibly fun wines. Villanelle is nothing if not alluring, complex and fun.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 3: Stirring the Lees

Villanelle finishes braiding her honey blonde hair then checks it in her vanity mirrors. She has been counting down the days all week. Once again, her mind wonders to the party and to how she will approach Eve. She’s been the only thing Villanelle has thought about recently. It’s distracting, the dark tendrils burrowing their way into everything Villanelle has done in the last few days, spurring fits of irritation and excitement in equal measure.

After her call with Konstantin, Villanelle spent hours researching the details of Eve’s rather public divorce from Niko Polastri and his off-putting moustache. When she reviewed sample wines on Tuesday, she lost focus and instead of taking notes, Villanelle had doodled a stick figure with distinctive curly hair in the margin of her notebook. 

In an effort to relieve some tension, she went out to a pub on Thursday night, picked up an older woman with curly reddish-brown hair and brought her back to her flat. 

While she was going down on Pamela, or Paula, or _whatever_ her name was, an image she found online of Eve Polastri from a benefit gala flashed into her mind. 

Eve’s curls were styled so they cascaded with perfect, tousled control. She wore a tight blue dress with thin straps and a rectangular cut out at the top that exposed the most delicious bit of olive skin at top her breasts. The memory of the image made Villanelle ravenous. She gripped the woman’s thighs tighter, fingernails digging into soft skin. Her tongue moved at such a feverish pace that Pamela-Paula- _who cares_ had tears in her eyes when she came. When Villanelle sent her away, she was more frustrated than before.

Villanelle puffs her cheeks and lets out a large huff of air as she tries to finish getting ready. She walks over to her wardrobe, opens its door and lets the faint hints of cedar calm her mind. She carefully surveys her options with deft fingers lightly running over the delicate fabrics. Villanelle selects a blue, red and black patterned Dries Van Noten pants suit. She pairs it with an obscure green scarf that ironically seems to work with her suit and features a series of small zebras, and a gold necklace. She pulls on a pair of black leather Dr. Martens boots to round out the look. 

Villanelle collects her bag, notebook and phone and walks to her door. As she locks the door to her flat, her phone buzzes.

 _“Uhhhhhhhh,”_ Villanelle groans when she reads Konstantin’s name on her screen. She knows exactly why he’s calling.

“Hello.”

“Villanelle, have you left for Kent?”

“I am on my way to the car, Konstantin.” Villanelle rolls her eyes. 

“Do not roll your eyes at me. You were supposed to be there by now.”

Villanelle sticks out her tongue in derision. 

“Haven’t you ever heard of fashionably late?”

“It is not professional to act this way.”

“What? It’s just a party. You do not need to worry, I’m always professional.”

“Make sure you are on your _best behaviour.”_ Villanelle joined him to finish his sentence. She knows how much Konstantin hates when she does it.

“Yes, I know. I look forward to hearing all about Eve’s wine.”

“You say that, but your criticism of that woman’s work has already cost me business. You better be nice to her today.”

Villanelle pouts. 

“Please. You and I both know that my review brought you and The Twelve far more attention than anything you’ve written in years.”

When Konstantin doesn’t immediately respond, Villanelle knows she has won this round.

“Just do what I ask, okay?”

“I already said I would, haven’t I?”

“Goodbye, Villanelle.”

Konstantin hangs up the phone before Villanelle can respond.

“So dramatic,” Villanelle says as she raises her eyebrows. She shakes her head and puts her phone back into her bag. 

Villanelle clicks her key fob, unlocks the door to her pearl white Jaguar XJ, slides into the supple black leather bucket seat and puts the key in the ignition. Before she pulls out of her parking space, she queues up the latest episode of her favourite true crime podcast about outrageous murders then drives away.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle turns up the long, slightly winding driveway that leads to the winery. She passes a cream-coloured sign with _The Bridge_ freshly painted in crimson. Villanelle drives through the open gates and stops her car at the valet stand. 

She puts her car into park and steps out onto the gravel, loose stones crunching under her boots.

“Hello, Miss. Welcome to The Bridge winery. May I take your keys?”

She wordlessly tosses her keys to the valet and makes her way to the party. 

Villanelle walks to a set of stone-covered steps and takes in her surroundings. The vineyard is planted on a gentle slope, facing southwest for maximum sun exposure. Villanelle can see what she suspects is Eve’s handiwork in the vineyard. The vines are positioned and trained like those in Champagne. 

She see small bits of green overgrowth and vegetation amoung the vines that most would assume were weeds but actually help to create a balanced ecosystem for vine growth. It is one of the hallmarks of a serious winemaker according to Villanelle’s own internal checklist. It’s also one of the things she enjoys most about wine, the beauty and depth of flavor and quality of the grapes comes not from relaxed vigor or ease, it is the result of struggle and competition, between the vines themselves and with other plants. There is such harmony and character that is born from the struggle.

There are other parts of the winery that stick out to Villanelle as obvious relics of the Polastri Wine Group – a random water fountain set within a small garden, a large wooden pergola. None of these are bad, _per se,_ they just do not fit the image of a serious European sparkling wine or winemaker. They do not fit Eve’s clear style of winemaking, or at least, what her style used to be. 

The winery building itself is new and large, stucco-covered with a terracotta roof. It too is out of place when set against the vineyard and the small, beautiful stone house that sits on the property. 

The house looks like it was picked up from the French countryside and gently set into the green, rolling hills that surround it. Large stones mortared together, faint blue shutters, slate roof with a chimney, and a small terrace that overlooks the vineyard. It looks comforting and welcoming. Villanelle imagines Eve sitting on her terrace in the mornings, drinking tea and watching the fog roll away from her vines. She feels a small smile form at the corners of her lips.

Villanelle walks down the steps to make her way toward the crowd gathered on a large patio. It is set up with numerous high top tables and wine barrels doubling as tables, typical décor for an outdoor winery party. Wait staff are passing hors d’oeuvres and a large table is covered with too many wine bottles to count, including some magnum and other larger format sizes.

As she clears the last step, an attractive young woman sitting at a small table covered with papers waves her over.

“Hello. Welcome to the official launch party for The Bridge, a new wine project by Eve Polastri. Would you please give me your name so I can check you off our list?”

Villanelle looks pointedly at the overly energetic young woman in front of her.

“I’m Villanelle Ast –“

The woman’s eyes grow wide and an audible gasp escapes her mouth.

“Oh my god! It’s _you._ I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Villanelle raises her brow.

“I was invited.”

“Yes, of course. But I never thought you’d show up.” The woman looks her over. “And you are not at all what I expected.”

Villanelle is used to people running their eyes over her body. She quite enjoys the attention. She knows she is beautiful. Villanelle smirks at her.

“Let me guess. You were expecting a middle-aged French woman with a bob, a scowl and stilettos?” 

“Yeah, actually. That’s exactly what I expected.” The woman sticks out her hand, “I’m Elena Felton, business manager for The Bridge.”

Villanelle give her a small but genuine smile and reaches out her own hand to shake Elena’s.

“Elena, would you please tell me where I might find the hostess?”

Elena and Villanelle scan the patio, searching for the curls Villanelle cannot seem to shake from her thought. She has no intention of apologising to Eve for what she wrote last year, but she does want to explain why she had written it and that she knows Eve has more to offer the world. Eve should be making wines that are coveted by collectors and tucked away for decades in cellars in the hopes that one day there will be a special occasion that befits Eve’s wine.

Maybe Eve will even understand.

“Oh, Eve. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. But she -” 

Villanelle cuts her off, “Thank you. I will find her.”

“Great. Don’t forget to grab a glass.”

Villanelle walks into the crowd and grabs a fresh, near weightless Zalto glass from the table as she passes.

_At least Eve knows to select proper glassware._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle has already eaten four of each hors d’oeuvre and finished half of her glass of Pinot Noir brut rosé. The stuffed mushrooms are her favourite thus far and she spots the waiter carrying a fresh tray full. Villanelle takes a few more mushrooms and sets herself up at an empty wine barrel in the corner of the patio. It is the perfect vantage point to watch the other guests and to watch Eve.

She sees Eve leading a small group of guests back from the vineyard. Villanelle pops another mushroom in her mouth and smiles. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a tall, muscular man dressed in a black suit with a black shirt, glasses and a greying beard heading her way.

“Hi. Mind if I join you?”

Villanelle does mind, but she nods her head and gestures him to join her.

“I’m Jamie. Founder and CEO of Bitter Pill, an online investigative new publication.”

“Natalie,” Villanelle says in a perfect Cockney accent.

_Konstantin didn’t say anything about being nice to the other guests._

While at university, Villanelle became an expert at imitating the various accents and dialects of her classmates. At first she picked it up so she could mock them, but now it’s her own little game. She is so adept with her accents that she sometimes goes an entire day in character just for the fun of it.

“What brings you here today, Natalie?”

“I’m the wine buyer in London.”

“And what’s that like?”

_Of course, he’s a journalist. So many boring questions._

Villanelle gives him a polite smile. The last thing she wants to do is carry on a conversation with anyone other than Eve. 

“Interesting.”

“I see. So I take it you’re here on business?”

“Yes.”

She takes a sip of her wine and scans the patio for Eve. 

Villanelle finds her three tables away chatting with two men. One is a tall, wiry looking man with glasses, greyish hair and beard, peakish skin. The other is short and thin with dark curly hair. The younger, shorter man is in a pressed white shirt, unbuttoned two buttons shy of a reasonable amount for the setting, and tailored navy trousers. Villanelle would almost call him stylish, if she did not have the immediate urge to kick him for the way he is clearly flirting with Eve.

Jamie turns his head to follow Villanelle’s eyes.

“Do you know Eve?”

“We’ve never met. Though I have followed her career for some time.”

“Then allow me to introduce you. She and I are old friends.”

Before Villanelle realises what Jamie has said, she sees his hand in the air, waving Eve over to join them. A few moments later, Eve is heading directly toward her. Villanelle’s throat is suddenly dry and she takes a deep, silent gulp. 

Eve is wearing a blue dress with capped sleeves and a deep v in the front that nearly reaches her breastbone. It is a great dress and Eve looks beautiful, but it’s missing something, a belt perhaps, to truly accentuate her figure. Eve’s fantastic curls are loosely cinched back with a barrette. 

“Eve. I’m glad I was able to steal you away for a minute.”

She smiles as Jamie wraps her in a hug.

“Wish I could say that it’s nice to see a friendly face, Jamie, but we both know you’re hardly friendly.”

Both Jamie and Eve laugh. The sound of her laugh is pleasant and sweet in Villanelle’s ears. 

Without thinking, she throws herself into the conversation, still in character.

“I would disagree. Jamie is perfectly friendly.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’ve joined you. That charm will quickly wear off.”

Eve turns and reaches out her hand toward Villanelle. Villanelle responds in kind and they shake for a few seconds. While their hands are locked together, she catches Eve’s eyes quickly snap to look her over from head to toe and back.

_Is she checking me out?_

Villanelle smirks. As they pull their hands back, her middle finger trails almost undetectably across Eve’s palm. 

Eve lets out a small, almost nervous breath and says, “As you can see, it seems to have already worn off since he hasn’t bothered to introduce us. I’m Eve Polastri.”

“I know who you are. Hi, Eve.”

“Hi.”

Eve gives her a slightly awkward but completely adorable smile and Villanelle knows she is staring a bit too long into Eve’s deep brown eyes. Her eyes flicker across the woman’s form reflexively and Villanelle pulls them back up.

Jamie interrupts their moment when he clears his throat. 

_I need to get rid of this guy._

“Actually, Natalie and I were just discussing her work.”

“Is that so?” Eve raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “What is it you do, Natalie?”

“I am a wine buyer for private clients. I was just about to explain to Jamie that many of my clients rather enjoy Domaine Martens.”

Villanelle watches closely as a slight breeze rolls through the air and pushes a curled lock across Eve’s cheek. It takes everything she has not to reach out and tuck the curl behind the other woman’s ear.

“Really?”

“Yes. Actually, I’ve been searching for more of your 2004 Brut Zero for years. It’s very special.”

Villanelle sees Eve’s eyes light up at her words and it sends a small spark to her chest.

“Wow, I didn’t think people still remembered that wine. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I can assure that I haven’t forgotten you or your Champagne, Eve.”

She catches the light shade of pink form on Eve’s cheeks and the way she shifts her wait back and forth slightly, as if she is deep in thought.

“Can I interest you both in a quick tour?”

Jamie gulps down the rest of the wine in his glass.

“Let’s go.”

Eve turns to Villanelle. 

“Natalie?”

“That would be lovely.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve leads Villanelle and Jamie up to the large stucco winery and unlocks the door. She reaches over to the electrical panel on the wall and flips on a series of large industrial warehouse lights. Four huge open-topped wood vats line the right wall along with two shining stainless steel tanks. The oak vats are stained with streaks of red from juice that bled through the grain and staves leaving long, thin trails. The smell of the grapes lingers in the air along with the faintest crackling from the fermenting juices. Eve’s team only finished picking their final red grapes last week. 

Eve moves a black lacquered ladder resting along the wall and leans it against one of the barrels. She climbs up to inspect her grapes. Villanelle watches Eve’s ass as she moves up each rung and she is hyper aware that she’s very interested in getting her hands on it.

Eve says something, but Villanelle isn’t paying attention.

“Natalie?”

Villanelle snaps back into focus.

“My apologies. I was admiring your vats – excellent work. If you don’t mind me asking, which cooperage do you use?”

Villanelle smiles at Eve, hoping she dodged a bullet and that no one picks up on the worst sexual innuendo she ever uttered. 

“Oh. I use the same French coopers as Carolyn actually. It’s a recent change I implemented as part of the transition. I’ve also just started working with stainless steel for one specific subsection of the vineyard. I’m excited for the linear quality it will give to our Chardonnay.”

“Fascinating.”

Villanelle finds herself suddenly hanging on every word the brunette says, Eve’s passion for her work pouring out as she speaks. This is such a contrast from the lifelessness she tasted in the Polastri Blanc de Blancs last year.

Eve climbs back down the ladder and explains the oak vats are used for some Pinot Noir that she grows, some that she buys, all of which combine to produce still wine that she doesn’t sell to the public. 

She directs them across the building to a set of stairs the lead to the underground cellars. As the walk down into the earth, Villanelle feels the noticeable shift in temperature. It is becoming colder as they go.

They reach the first subsurface level, a massive cave cut out of the subterranean rocks and boulders, filled to the brim with French oak barrels of varied sizes. Some are foudre, and larger than Villanelle, others are standard 225 litres. Despite the lights Eve turned on, the cave is dark and the walls are covered in a thin layer of cobwebs. 

Villanelle closely examines the room and its contents, paying special attention to the handwritten marks on each barrel. They all have notations written in chalk, some list dates or random combinations of numbers and letters. 

“What are these markings on the barrels, Eve?”

“That’s just my own personal shorthand. I use it to keep track of the aging process and which sections of the vineyard that barrel’s grapes were from. It drives everyone on the team crazy because I’m the only one who can read it.”

Villanelle points to an old 225 litre barrel beside her left shoulder and asks, “Pinot Noir, north-east corner?”

Eve check the barrel then turns to Villanelle with an astonished look in her eye. 

“Yeah, actually. How did you know?”

Villanelle smirks.

“Lucky guess.” She winks at Eve and turns around to take in the other aging barrels, eager to continue the little guessing game.

Jamie interrupts again and Villanelle debates how difficult it would be to roll some of the barrels over and crush him. 

“Right. Well, this has all become a bit over my head. I’ll get back to drinking the wine instead of listening to you two talk about it.”

“It’s a good thing we’re friends, Jamie. If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you were an arsehole.”

“I’m that too, but I prefer a drunk arsehole.”

_Finally. Go._

Eve gestures them back toward the stairs.

“After you.”

Villanelle is not ready to give Eve back to her other guests yet, especially when she’s now rid of the really annoying man and has Eve all to herself. And more time with Eve gives her the chance to explain her article and this current accent misunderstanding. Maybe Eve will actually find it funny, their private little joke.

“Eve, would it be possible for you to show me the vineyard? I would so love to hear more about your recent changes.”

“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to,” Eve says with a bright smile.

They walk silently back up to the ground level and exit the winery. Eve leads the way by weaving between guests and tables and down a slight hill to the vineyard.

They walk side-by-side, flanked by now bare grape vines trained along wires that run the length of each row. The leaves around them have begun to turn golden brown as they transition to fall and inevitable dormancy. Villanelle sees small outcroppings of chalk that are visibly exposed within the topsoil, the same chalky spine that continues to run all the way under the English Channel to Champagne.

“We’ve begun the transition to organic farming. It will take time to rid the vineyard of all the chemicals that were used by, uhm…” Eve’s eyes trail off looking toward the end of the vineyard.

“By the corporate hacks at the Polastri Group, you mean,” Villanelle offers with a sly smile.

Eve chuckles, “Yes. Exactly.”

Villanelle walks a few paces ahead, stops, and turns over her right shoulder to look at Eve. She tucks her hands into her pockets as she moves.

“So how does it feel?” Villanelle’s voice, even with her improvised accent, drops a decibel lower.

“What do you mean?” Eve raises her brow in confusion.

“To be free. How does it feel?”

“Oh. I haven’t really thought about it like that actually. I’ve been so busy with harvest and getting ready for this party…” Eve looks down at her bare left hand as if she finally realises something is no longer there to hold her down, then turns her eyes back to Villanelle, full of intent. “You know what, it’s bloody brilliant.”

Villanelle stares at the brunette and can feel the exhilaration rising in both of them.

“Eve!” She says with feigned shock in her voice, “How could you say such a thing?”

“I guess I’m not a very nice lady.” The corners of Eve’s mouth curl up, slightly betraying her faux serious tone.

Villanelle licks her lips. She was not expecting this from Eve, but the fieriness suits her. It’s very sexy and Villanelle is more than happy to play this game.

_This is going to be fun._

“Eve!” someone shouts from the patio. Eve turns to see who is calling, but Villanelle’s eyes remained focused on her.

“Eve!”

“What is it, Elena?”

 _Elena?_ Villanelle looks back to see the woman she met upon her arrival headed toward them.

_Shit._

“Where have you been? You’re supposed to give your speech now.”

“Sorry, I must have lost track of the time. I’ve been explaining some of our recent improvements to Natalie.”

Elena looks at Villanelle, then Eve, then Villanelle again. She’s clearly confused.

_Shit._

“Who’s Natalie?”

Villanelle clears her throat.

“Eve, I can explain.” She says it slipping back into her actual, Russian accent.

Eve deadpans.

“What the fuck? You aren’t British? Is that – do you – do you have a Russian accent?”

“Yes, I am Russian. But that is not the point.” Villanelle takes two steps toward Eve, who retreats with matching steps.

“Who the hell are you?” Eve’s tone noticeably louder and more direct.

“I think you should calm down and let me explain.”

“Eve, Villanelle’s right,” Elena says, trying to calm the situation. “You two can sort out whatever this is later. Right now you need to get back to the party.”

Elena puts her hand on Eve’s shoulder and it’s immediately pushed away.

“Wait - What? _Villanelle?_ You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for all the feedback I've received so far on this story, and I hope everyone continues to have fun with this.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm on tumblr @ kai-oz23 and twitter @KRKacs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for following along with this story and all the kind words everyone has shared in the comments. I'm glad people are enjoying this strange AU.
> 
> Eve is back. She's back and she's salty.
> 
> The POV wine for salty Eve - Muscadet. It's a light-bodied white wine from the Loire Valley that smells and tastes incredibly saline and salty, almost like a sea breeze. Muscadet and oysters is one of the best food and wine combos ever.

# Chapter 4: Corked

“You invited me. Now will you just calm down.” The corners of her lips are pulled down, frowning, and there is pleading in her voice.

“Bullshit. You know full well you are not welcome here. So don’t patronize me and tell me to calm down,” Eve spits back.

Where the fuck does Natalie – no, not Natalie. Villa- _fucking_ -nelle. Where does she get off showing up here, unwelcome, toying with Eve? She has already ruined Eve’s career once. 

Eve feels nails digging sharply into her palms as she balls her hands into fists, utterly seething.

Before either woman can get another word out, Elena steps into the middle to play referee. Her arms are outstretched, hands up to stop them, signaling each fighter to remain in their respective corners.

Elena turns to Eve.

“She was invited, Eve. Bill and I invited her.” Elena tries her best to use a calming tone to ease the tension. 

It doesn’t work.

All Eve can do is think of that damned article, the things that the woman a few metres across from her had written. Words that had finally sunk her sinking ship of a marriage, words that made it nearly impossible to show her face at industry events. 

The tall blonde woman just over Elena’s shoulder perched there like the devil herself had humiliated Eve.

“You did _what?”_ Eve stares daggers at Elena. “How could you do this to me? You know what she did.” 

Her stomach begins to churn and she feels bile burning up her throat threateningly.

Villanelle folds her arms across her chest, mouth half opened as if she is about to speak, confusion swirling in her eyes.

“She is the biggest name in sparkling wine. We could use the press. You know that. Please be reasonable.” Elena drops her hands back to her side.

Villanelle scoffs and shakes her head. 

“Wow,” she says, having the gall to sound offended as she raises her eyebrows. 

Those three little letters, said so self-righteously, fortify Eve with steeliness and a renewed, refocused anger she has desperately needed in her life and in the moment. In fact, her nausea is gone and she finds it now takes all her self-control not to storm over to Villanelle and stab her right then and there. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eve says with sarcasm and rancor laced together in her words. “Do you have something else to say? Any other novel ideas of how you can embarrass me? Are you going to put on a disguise next?” It all spills out of Eve now, like someone finally turned on a faucet of emotions that rush forward with no end in sight.

Villanelle pointedly locks her hazel eyes on Eve. Her features shift and sharpen. 

“I was honest, Eve. You and I both know it.”

Now it’s Eve’s turn to scoff.

“You really are a self-centered prick, aren’t you? You have no idea what you’ve done and you clearly don’t care.”

Eve and Villanelle both step closer to one another, Elena once again trying to keep them separated. The women never averting their eyes from each other as their brows simultaneously narrow. 

This stare down is one fight Eve is determined to win.

“I care that your staff wish to use my name and reputation as if it is some sort of free promotion,” Villanelle says annoyingly coolly.

“Ha! Of course that’s what you think. Why am I not surprised?”

“Come on, you two. Let it go. Eve, you have a speech to give – like – right now.” Elena tries to put her hand on Eve’s shoulder yet again. 

She allows it this time at the realization that any further public display would only hurt the re-launch. Luckily, the vines keep the standoff hidden from view.

“Okay. Fine. But she needs to leave. Now,” Eve hisses.

As she walks back to the patio and her guests, Eve puts on her best bullshit smile but her thoughts are stuck on Villanelle and that article. The words are etched in her brain at this point, each line needling its way into her consciousness, threatening to derail her comeback.

_A once promising winery, helmed by a woman who was once one of wine’s most promising talents, has completely lost the plot._

Eve makes her way to Bill, who has a microphone and glass in hand. She takes the mic and wine Bill offers as Kenny and Bear tap their forks against their glasses making the unmistakable clink, clink, clink that causes the guests to quiet down.

“Hi everyone. My name is Eve Polastri and I’m the owner and winemaker here at The Bridge.”

As Eve’s eyes work their way through the crowd, she catches Villanelle returning to the patio.

“As you know, we’ve undergone some major changes in the last few months. Changes I hope you will find are reflective of the new style and direction we plan to take with our sparkling wines moving forward.”

Villanelle’s now inaccessible, catlike eyes continue to focus directly on Eve as she speaks. Her face is hard and cold, expressionless. It is unsettling being watched by this woman, it makes Eve feel exposed. But she can’t look away, can’t look back to the rest of the crowd.

“On behalf of myself and the staff, thank you all so much for joining us this afternoon. Cheers.”

Eve raises her glass and everyone responds in kind, except Villanelle. Villanelle turns on her heels, tucks her hands into her pockets and climbs the stairs toward the car park. She leaves without another word, without any more fighting or arguing. 

Eve tries to decipher the diametrically opposed thoughts oscillating in her mind as she watches her go – the small but clear sense of glee at the victory she has won, and the tiny, strange pang of disappointment that their duel is over.

It’s just as well, Eve decides. She has to concentrate on playing hostess. 

The point of the etching needle digs in again. As she think about the lines from Villanelle, it scrapes away at her while she forces the pleasantries with other faceless guests. She lets it. Eve uses it to fuel her and push whatever disappointment she was feeling out of her head.

_It is remarkable that a once truly unique voice and a winemaker with style, has gone the way of mimosa and bellini filler._

Bill reaches over, wraps his arm around Eve and squeezes her against his side.

“Well done. You’ve really pulled it off.”

Eve doesn’t make eye contact with him. She is furious over his antics.

“You’re lucky you don’t actually work for me, Bill. Otherwise I’d fire your arse so fast it would make your head spin.”

She doesn’t elaborate. Bill catches on immediately.

“I take it you met Villanelle? Elena says she’s gorgeous.”

He clinks his glass against Eve’s, takes a sip and follows the server carrying a piping hot tray of spanakopita.

“What a monkey dick,” Eve calls to his back.

The guests around her turn their eyes on her, staring.

Eve awkwardly smiles and walks to the caterer’s tent to hide.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With the bite-sized desserts being served, Eve finally has a few minutes to breathe. She feels like she has been holding her breath all day, or at the very least, has been holding her breath since her run in with Villanelle.

Eve grabs her glass, tops it up with sparkling rosé and makes her way to the standing table currently occupied by Carolyn. 

“Enjoying yourself, Carolyn?”

“Eve. I just finished a terribly boring conversation with a weaselly looking man who went on and on about his late wife. I thought he might cry.”

Eve is used to Carolyn’s frankness and has grown to appreciate it over the years, so long as it’s not directed her way. 

“How was harvest,” Eve asks.

“Fine. We finished picking just before a torrential downpour on our last day. It took some convincing to get Mo to start when I wanted. Thankfully, he did as instructed. Others were not as fortunate.”

“I’m optimistic about our fruit this year, the sugars and acidity are promising. The Pinot Meunier wasn’t quite as balanced as I’d like but I think I might segregate some of our Chardonnay and Pinot Noir. There’s a special bloc in the southwest corner that could be it’s own cru some day.” 

Eve sips her wine when Carolyn doesn’t respond. It’s not unlike Carolyn to completely ignore the plight of others, even when she’s fond of them.

“Was that Villanelle I saw earlier?”

Eve nearly chokes when she hears the question.

_Not this shit again._

“Yeah, it was. Why?”

“She and I have spoken several times about a biographical piece of sorts, but I can never seem to find time to make it work. Her boss, Konstantin. He and I are old friends.”

“I see.” Eve knows what it means to be old friends with Carolyn Martens.

“I’m surprised she left. A good story from her would be quite helpful in your current situation.”

Eve rolls her eyes.

“So I’ve been told.”

“Oh come off it, Eve. You would do well to worry a bit less about your pride and a bit more about the work that needs to be done,” Carolyn says bluntly. Eve does hate when it’s directed toward her. She does not need this right now.

“I am focused on the work,” Eve says in a partially insulted tone.

“Some of it, yes. But the other work, the public charade we all must do for name recognition, you were never one for those tasks.”

“And for good reason. You seem to forget that her review was the downfall of my career and my marriage.”

“Not this again,” Carolyn says as she folds her hands and rests them on the table.

“Yes, this again. I’m going to continue to remind you and everyone else of the hell she’s put me through in the last year.”

“Please, don’t get into your hysterics. I suspect that you do realise by now, you have no choice in the matter. People in our line of work need people like Villanelle on our side.”

There is no venom in Carolyn’s delivery but it feels like poison all the same, coursing and burning through Eve’s bloodstream, infecting and threatening to destroy the few ounces of pride she has left. 

If one more person tells her that she needs Villanelle’s help, Eve is going to explode. 

It doesn’t matter if they’re right, doesn’t matter if they’re all making complete sense. Eve will not allow the last of her pride to be taken, she is going to rebuild on her own. Eve will do it without _whatever it is_ that tall, twenty-something blondes with overly critical opinions have to offer. 

And Eve likes having others to blame, Niko and Villanelle, the bad guys in her future success story.

“People are here now, aren’t they?” Eve gestures at the large but thinning crowd of guests that have stayed until the bitter end of the afternoon. “I don’t need her help.”

“Very well then. I have business up in London this evening and should be getting on.”

Carolyn walks away before Eve can say goodbye or thank her for coming. Eve doubts that she would now.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t believe she actually showed up!”

Everyone left hours ago, but Elena still carries on about Carolyn Martens. Her fangirling is becoming borderline obsessive.

“My god, Elena. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you had a crush on her.”

“I do! She’s a total badass. What’s not to love?”

Eve shakes her head. She is still angry with Elena and Bill for their stunt today, but her resolve is starting to crack. As much as she hates the idea, Eve knows they mean well and want The Bridge to be as much of a success as she does.

“Speaking of crushes on badasses,” Bill chimes in from behind the refrigerator door, “did any of you get a look at the hot, young blonde in the multi-coloured suit?”

_Scratch that._

Eve is not ready to let it go entirely yet.

“Yes, Bill, you backstabbing bastard. I did get quite a long look at her when she wasn’t shouting at me. That was Villanelle.”

“Bloody hell,” he says as he walks back to Eve’s living room, beers in hand.

“Right,” Elena chimes in. “I told you, she is gorgeous. She wears a suit better than any man I’ve ever seen.”

“You weren’t kidding.” Bill wiggles his eyebrows and puts on his best shit-eating grin.

“Christ, I can’t believe you two. You completely betray me and all you have to say for yourselves is, ‘but she’s hot?’” Eve grabs a beer from Bill and takes a long swig.

“I mean, yeah, Eve. She is hot.” Elena polishes off her current bottle and takes another beer when Bill hands it to her.

_This is going nowhere fast._

“Look. We know you’re upset with us,” Bill says as he sits back down in his usual spot on the worn-in Chesterfield loveseat. “Maybe we should have told you we invited her, sure, I’ll grant you that. But what good is it going to do you to keep pushing this? Things have changed, you’ve changed.”

“I’m fully aware of all the changes.”

“So don’t you think it would be a good idea to show her how wrong she was? That all those crap wines weren’t your doing? No one actually knows the whole story besides us.”

“How many times do I need to say it before you all understand? I don’t need or want any help from her!”

“It’s not about help. It’s about showing people who you are and what you’re capable of.”

Eve puts her fingers over her closed eyes and rubs them in frustrated circles until her contacts start to burn and scratch at her corneas. She takes a deep breath in and out, steadying herself.

“Ugh. Okay, let’s say for the sake of this argument that you and Elena are right. That still doesn’t excuse whatever the hell that performance was from her today. The fake accent, saying her name was Natalie. What the fuck was that?”

Bill takes a sip of beer, trying to buy himself time to think.

“Fair play,” Elena says. “That was strange.”

“Well, did you give her a chance to explain,” Bill chides.

Eve grinds her teeth and flares her nostrils. 

_Explain? How can anyone explain such psychopathic behaviour?_

“Of course not. What kind of psycho does something like that?” Eve pinches the bridge of her nose, frustrated again.

“The hot ones apparently,” Bill says with a smile and a shrug.

“Come on, Eve,” Elena says with a small smile as she piles it on. “You do have to admit … she’s got to be the hottest woman in the business. And I swear she was looking at you like the heart eyes emoji when I walked over.” 

Eve feels the heat from Elena’s gaze, and then from Bill’s. These two are going to be the death of her.

“Really?” Bill makes no effort to hide his giddiness.

“Maybe you both forget, but I did just get divorced last week.” 

Eve wants this conversation to end. She’ll take anything to get them to drop it at this point – natural disaster, gas leak, _whatever._

“Oh no,” Bill says as he rolls his eyes, “we remember that perfectly well. Cheers again to the end of that shit storm.” He raises his bottle toward Eve and takes a swig.

Eve and Elena join him. After she drinks, Eve puts the ice-cold beer to her temple. 

“Amen to that,” Elena says in her typical matter-of-fact fashion. “No offence or anything, but let’s be real. Villanelle is in a whole different galaxy from Niko and, honestly, every person I’ve ever met.” 

Eve can’t help but laugh. She’s going to continue to get ribbed about this anyhow, there’s no use in fighting this part any further. Eve finally lets her tension and anger from the day slowly subside. 

“Alright, fine. You’re right. Despite the signs of clinical insanity, she was freakishly attractive. It’s infuriating,” she says through her gritted teeth.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With Bill and Elena finally gone for the night, Eve has a few, quiet moments to herself. Something is gnawing and scraping at the back of her mind. She walks from the living room to the office she shares with Elena, wine bottle and fresh glass in hand.

She should be exhausted after the party and all the energy expended to get through the day. She should be exhausted from the last month, between picking grapes from the pre-dawn hours through sunset, and her disrupted sleep schedules during the first days of fermentation. But Eve doesn’t want to walk upstairs to her bed and can’t seem to close her eyes. Eve feels wide awake. 

The old and ornate metal hands on the antique office clock show that it’s nearly midnight. Eve pulls out the chair and sits at her desk. She rarely uses it. Eve is always in the vineyard or in the cellar. She leaves the paperwork and day-to-day business to Elena. Eve didn’t use it while she and Niko were together either. 

But her time in the vineyard and cellar was always overshadowed back then. Her ideas were pushed off to the side in favor of chasing “tastes” and “flavour profiles” identified by Polastri Wine Group during any number of the myriad of focus groups the company conducted to sell more wines to the unsuspecting, zombified masses.

Eve hates her desk. Terrible things always happened whenever she sat in this chair. 

She was sitting here the day Niko walked in and told her she was effectively being demoted and that Polastri Group had hired a consultant to create their “signature house style.” Eve didn’t fight it then, she had already been so unhappy with the direction of the grape growing and the construction of the winery that she just gave up. 

What made things worse, the Polastri’s did not publicize Raymond’s role as consultant, a highly atypical, somewhat unethical, thing to do in the world of wine. 

It meant that no one outside the winery actually knew Eve’s wings had been clipped by Niko and that he empowered someone else working behind the scenes in secret to make the final decisions with blending the Pinot, Chardonnay, and bits of Pinot Meunier into their house sparkling. And Eve is now prohibited from disclosing any details about the consultation arrangement publicly by virtue of the non-disclosure agreement she signed when her divorce was finalized.

For three years, she sat in cold silence with Raymond and Niko at the table they set up in the winery each January and February when the blending tests occurred. When she did speak up, Eve was always ignored. Raymond had been the one to add an inordinate amount of sugar into the wines during dosage, stretching the brut classification to its absolute limits, or if Eve’s palate was any indication, exceeding the standards and fudging the numbers for sales purposes. 

It meant that the terrible 2016 Blanc de Blancs Villanelle reviewed last year was not actually Eve’s wine. Not in the traditional sense. 

Eve pulls the metal handles of her desk drawer. The antique wood is stretched from the humidity in the room and she tugs hard several times to force the drawer open. 

The magazine clipping is in the same spot she left it, untouched for nearly a year. 

The review that changed everything for Eve, she doesn’t even remember why she had the urge to cut it from the July 2018 issue of The Twelve. Maybe she’s a masochist and saved it to remind herself of the painful last decade. Maybe she will actually rub it all in Villanelle’s face when The Bridge turns out to be a huge success. 

Eve hopes that was the reason.

She runs her thumbs across the paper. Eve was sitting at this desk, in this chair, when she read the review for the first time. Bill had handed her the magazine and told her to stay calm though he knew the plea would fall on deaf ears. 

She puts on her glasses and reads the familiar words though Eve has them memorized.

_A once promising winery, helmed by a woman who was once one of wine’s most promising talents, has completely lost the plot. The 2016 Blanc de Blancs has only the faintest aromas of lemon curd and flowers, both of which are completely overpowered by a sickeningly sweet artificial taste best described as yellow. The palate brings further suffering with large, unnatural bubbles that dissolve almost as quickly as one’s sense of taste after the first sip. It is remarkable that a once truly unique voice and a winemaker with style, has gone the way of mimosa and bellini filler. This is a wine for the badly dressed, normal people._

Eve grabs the 2016 Polastri Blanc de Blancs from the desk and unwraps the golden foil from the neck of the bottle. She unwinds the muselet to ease the tight cage from the cork. Eve cradles the bottom of the bottle with her left hand and gently turns the cork with her right, allowing the pressure inside to do the work and push the cork out after a few small turns. The loud pop fills the silence of the house.

She pours the wine. Eve begins her tried and true tasting process – lift the glass to eye level and watch the bubbles work themselves to the surface. The bubbles are large and unnatural. 

She swirls the glass in her hand, holding the stem and rotating her wrist in small circles. Eve puts her nose to the glass. There are hints of lemon curd and white flowers, as expected. But the aromas fade far too quickly.

Eve lifts the wine to her lips and takes a thoughtful sip. She gurgles the wine in her mouth, sucking in her cheeks and pulling in tight breaths of air. Then she swishes the wine and finally swallows. 

It tastes artificial. Like the Lemonhead candies Eve used to suck on as a child, back in Connecticut. Yellow number 5 is the best way to describe the taste.

“Fuck. This is disgusting.”

_Fuck._

_She was right._

Eve pulls her glasses off her nose and drops them on the desk as she sighs. Exasperated, she runs her fingers through her hair and massages her scalp. 

Then, by the grace of some fucking mystical wine god, deity, or whatever bullshit otherworldly being people make up to help themselves feel better, Eve has a rhapsodic moment of clarity. She can see the path forward, laid out so perfectly for the first time in who knows how long.

“Villanelle isn’t right. She has it totally fucking wrong.”

And Eve is going to prove to everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the kind words.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> If you want to chat, I'm on tumblr @ kai-oz23 and twitter @KRKacs - be forewarned that I'll be insufferably tweeting about football. Up the Reds!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this a day early because why not, it's ready to go.
> 
> I’m also on a personal mission with this to put V in front of Eve in outfits that were wasted on other people.
> 
> The wine for Villanelle’s POV- this chapter is all about Left Bank Bordeaux, specifically Margaux. Left Bank Bordeaux’s are Cabernet-based blends (Right Bank are Merlot-based) and can generally give complex aromatics of black currant and dark black fruit that meshes with tobacco and dried floral notes. It’s quite a compelling contrast. In this chapter, Villanelle is full of contrasting emotions and actions.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 5: The Press

Villanelle is out for a run as the sun is rising into the grey, cloud-covered sky and the streets quietly hum with the Sunday morning sounds of bakeries, cafés and coffee shops slowly opening for business. 

She is abnormally exhausted, trying to run on the fumes of a sleepless night spent tossing and turning and replaying her confrontation with Eve. It did not go as planned. What started out as promising, hopeful flirting turned on its head with heated words and accusations.

She picks up her pace to a higher tempo and welcomes the burning in her lungs and the lactic acid buildup that makes her legs grow tight and heavy. A few more minutes of demanding effort causes Villanelle’s hamstrings to cramp. She limps over to a nearby bench in King Square and tries to stretch the pain away. 

Villanelle lifts her right leg onto the wooden backrest with its chipped black paint, reaches to her toes and breathes. She does the same with her left leg. The cramping persists.

She looks at her watch to check her distance – Villanelle is nearly three kilometres from her flat in Shoreditch. 

It will be too painful to walk home and she did not bring cash, a credit card or her cell phone. Villanelle never has issues like this when she runs, especially on this easy 10k loop. These sort emergencies just do not happen to her. She desperately wishes she had her phone now, at the very least, to order an Uber to get herself home.

Villanelle turns and plops herself down on the bench, finally taking in her surroundings. She realises she is near Dingley Place and Konstantin’s flat. 

She half-walk, half-drags herself to his door and hits the buzzer for his flat over and over and over and over.

The intercom hisses.

“What is it?”

“Konstantin, let me in.”

“Go away. It is not barely seven o’clock.”

“I can’t. I’m injured.”

“So call an ambulance. I am trying to sleep.”

“If you do not let me in, I will simply have to die here on the street in front of your flat. It will cause a big scene so early in the morning.”

The intercom cuts out.

Villanelle hits the buzzer again, over and over.

The longer, louder humming of the door’s buzzer indicates that Konstantin has finally let her in.

Villanelle hobbles herself into Konstantin’s living room, flops over the armrest and onto the sofa.

“Is this necessary?” Konstantin shakes his head at the sight.

“Water. I am very dehydrated and cramping.”

He walks over to the kitchen, fills up a glass and sets it on the coffee table just out of Villanelle’s reach.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It is water. You drink it.”

“But it is such a tiny cup,” she says as she stretches for it and downs the water in one large gulp, some water dribbling out over the corners of lips. She wipes her mouth on her teal Lululemon long sleeved training top.

“Move over,” Konstantin says as he lifts Villanelle’s legs off the sofa and sets them on the floor to make room for himself.

“Oooowwwwww!” Villanelle makes a dramatic show of hoisting herself upright to sit on the other side of the sofa.

“So what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean? I thought it was obvious.”

“You only run when you are upset,” Konstantin says in his fatherly tone.

“That’s not true. I run all the time.”

“Yes, okay. You run when you are upset or angry. Which is it?”

“Neither. I wanted some fresh air.”

“Fresh London smog at seven on a Sunday? This wouldn’t have anything to do with Eve, would it?” He turns to face Villanelle and rubs his beard, giving her that knowing look.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Villanelle. I hear you and Eve had some sort of shouting match yesterday and you stormed off.”

“That is not what happened.” 

“Do you care to explain why you left so suddenly?”

Villanelle pouts her lip.

“I was not feeling well. Food poisoning, I think.”

“Uh huh.”

“It is disappointing that you do not trust me, Konstantin.” Villanelle puts her hands over her heart as if she’s wounded.

“No, I don’t. And I know you are lying to me.”

She gets up from the sofa and walks to the kitchen to refill her incomprehensibly tiny cup with more water.

“Will you cook me breakfast?”

“No.”

“You are not a very welcoming host.” Villanelle folds her arms across her chest and leans her back against the kitchen counter.

“I didn’t invite you here.”

“Semantics.”

Konstantin lets out a loud, bellowing, “Ha! Ha!”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and opens his fridge.

“You know, she blames you for ruining her marriage.”

Her head pops up and she shoots her eyes back to the sofa.

“What do you mean? How do you know that?”

“I had dinner with Carolyn Martens last night. She told me all the things Eve has been saying to her.”

Villanelle raises her eyebrow curiously.

“Eve has been talking about me?”

“No. She is complaining and blaming you for her misfortune. Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

Villanelle isn’t listening to anything Konstantin says. She is solely focused on Eve Polastri and the idea that Eve seems to think about her just as much as she thinks about Eve. Villanelle knew she had gotten under Eve’s skin yesterday, but she never expected this. 

The mix of lingering agitation at Eve’s inability to let go of the past and new excitement that she is actually fixated on Villanelle is all consuming.

“Villanelle? Did you hear me?” Konstantin’s eyes are harder now.

“Yes, I know. She thinks I am a terrible person who ruined her life.”

“No. I am not even talking about Eve anymore. I said that you are going to New York in November for Champagne Fest. Until I can trust you to behave, no more wineries or reviews.”

“But you know I hate those stupid events. There are so many sloppy drunk people all week long. They are so _boring.”_

Villanelle closes the fridge and sits back on the sofa in a huff. 

_This is extremely unfair._

“Maybe you will learn to listen to me next time.”

“You are being so annoying. I’m leaving.”

Villanelle walks to the door. Her cramped legs though slightly less taut, still remain strained.

“Oh and make sure you research all of the lieu-dit of Ambonnay. You are going to moderate a panel.”

“Now you are just being cruel.”

Villanelle walks out of Konstantin’s flat, into the cold morning air and the first few drops of a rain shower.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

New York City in November is grey and ugly. Villanelle enjoys New York, but she hates it during this strange limbo period before Christmas and New Years. The days are so short and dark, the people are more on edge than usual, and it always feels gloomy and damp. Not London damp, but New York City subway damp. And it is always so windy. The skyscrapers in every direction create the world’s most inhospitable and unwelcoming series of wind tunnels.

The first signs of Christmas aren’t enough brighten her mood either. She sees the lights being hung and store windows preparing their displays from the tinted window of her Uber as it drives her through the streets of Midtown Manhattan, none of it improves her mood. Villanelle does not want to be here. 

_At all._

She thought about exchanging her plane ticket for a flight to Cape Town or Rio, anywhere else, but Konstantin had driven her off at Heathrow, parked his Range Rover and followed her to check in. There was no way for her to escape.

Her car pulls up to the entrance of The Ritz-Carlton on Central Park. The doorman emerges from the heaters under the glass-covered awning and takes Villanelle’s bags inside. The hotel is beautiful with its gold, tan and black marble floors and large wooden columns. She usually stays at The Plaza whenever she is in New York, but she concedes that this is a suitable alternative.

After she checks in at the hotel’s front desk, she reluctantly walks over to the table set up for Champagne Fest. 

_What a shit name for an event that is supposed to celebrate the best wine in the world._

The table is complete with its large, tacky white flag with off-centered print that was clearly made by some hack at one of those online, self-design business promotion websites. Everything inside Villanelle screams and begs her to leave. 

She puts on her best fake smile and steps up to the frizzy-haired intern in the poorly fitting, cheap black skirt suit.

“Checking in,” Villanelle mumbles.

“Hi! Welcome to Champagne Fest 2019. Here is your complementary tote bag and water bottle.”

Villanelle begrudgingly accepts the items handed to her and scrunches her nose in disgust. She looks around to scope out the nearest trash bin to dump the bag.

“And here is the itinerary.”

“Thanks,” Villanelle responds.

“Are you an attendee or presenter?”

“I am moderating a panel tomorrow.”

“Okay… uhm – just let me find the presenter list.” The young woman shuffles the papers spread across the table and manages to knock over another large stack, along with the complementary pens in the process.

Villanelle watches as the intern struggles to collect the pens and papers.

“Oh, come on. Really?”

She hears the voice come into earshot and as Villanelle turns around, she finds Eve already beside her, bending over to assist the reckless intern. 

Villanelle folds her arms over her chest, totally amused by the sight.

Eve hands the pens and paper back to the young woman and stands up. She doesn’t turn to face Villanelle.

“Hi, Eve.”

“Villanelle.”

The intern is finally ready to proceed.

“Sorry about the delay. You were saying you’re a moderator. Which panel?”

“The Evolution of Ambonnay.”

Eve lets out an audible groan.

Villanelle turns and asks, “Is something wrong,” with a flutter of her eyes.

“No.”

Villanelle silently mouths _okay_ as she raises her eyebrows and returns to the intern.

“Miss Astanko-“

“Call me Villanelle.”

Eve sneers at that.

Villanelle puts her left hand on the table, leans toward the intern and points her right thumb over her shoulder toward Eve.

“Ignore her. She’s suffering from severe jet lag. And do not make jokes either.” Villanelle takes the lanyard, pamphlets and papers the woman hands her and as she walks away says, “That one has no sense of humor.”

“Don’t you want directions to Pier 60 or the hosting restaurants,” the intern calls to her back.

Villanelle doesn’t answer. She walks to the elevator bank and presses the up button to call the lift. When the doors open, she steps in, turns to face the doors and sees Eve’s hands balled into frustrated fists as she stands at the table. Villanelle smirks as the doors close.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle gets out of her Uber in front of the grey metal building with its doors framed in red and blue. She walks in and finds the large space denoted with Pier 60 signs is set up with long rows of linen-covered tables, wine glasses, water glasses and tasting mat set in front of each seat. Two walls of the building are comprised of floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the windows at the back of the room overlooking the Hudson River. 

The front of the room is set with four high-backed bar stools. Three are situated close to each other while the other is placed a few metres away, clearly meant to be Villanelle’s moderator seat. 

There is also a podium off to the side of her chair, though she has no intention of using it or offering opening remarks. Konstantin had told Villanelle to prepare for the seminar, but that is simply not her style. She will easily and successfully improvise this hour-long discussion with three winemakers. She does her best work on the fly.

She steps onto the stage and makes her way behind the curtain to deposit her bag. Two panelists, young Champenois from small grower domaines in Ambonnay are already here. Villanelle shakes their hands, having met each of them several times over the years. Their wines are good enough, yet neither is likely to be mistaken for a great vigneron in the commune. 

She mentally notes to ask them each some thoughtful questions about soil, slope, wind and sunlight, and do just enough to steer them toward the rambling musings that self-important men like these are capable of.

She checks her phone, the seminar won’t begin for another half hour. Villanelle walks over to the breakfast spread, fills a white ceramic mug with bad catered coffee and fixes a plate of fresh fruit and a croissant. She sets herself at a table and silently eats breakfast while she skims through her Instagram and Twitter feeds. Villanelle reluctantly sips on the terrible coffee, in desperate need of caffeine to get her through what is bound to be a boring, sleep-inducing hour of pretending to listen to the panelists.

After she finishes eating, she makes her way to the bathroom. She steps up to the mirror to give herself a final inspection before taking the stage. Villanelle runs her long, nimble fingers over the velvet lapels on her navy Chloe blazer, embroidered with the ostentatious gold horses. She fidgets with the button of her ruffled silk blouse, and turns to the left, then to the right to check her ass in the mirror. Villanelle decides she looks great, no surprise. The shiny, silver leather pants are working for her.

Villanelle turns and reaches to pull the door open. As she does, Eve Polastri comes spilling through, backside first. 

Eve is falling toward the ground and in an effort to stop her, Villanelle reaches around her waist. She pushes Eve upright and notices the sudden tension in the brunette’s spine. 

The momentary closeness sets tiny sparks shooting out from Villanelle’s chests and down through her fingertips. 

Eve collects herself and moves wordlessly toward the sink. She sets her purse on the counter and lets out a loud breath. Then she picks a piece of fuzz from her frumpy, copper coloured cardigan.

Villanelle waits.

She waits for a, “thanks for saving me,” or, “sorry you are stuck here because my old boss has a big fat mouth” from Eve. She waits and she stares at Eve’s reflection in the mirror as she runs her hands through her curls. It feels like she waits for hours though it can’t be more than a few seconds. 

Eve is definitely ignoring her. It is annoying, should be annoying, but Villanelle cannot seem to remember she is annoyed as she watches the mirror. 

Then, finally, Eve speaks.

“Can I help you,” she asks still looking in the mirror and sounding annoyed. How is it that Eve is annoyed?

Eve starts to pull her hair back into a ponytail.

Villanelle takes a breath and it’s as if she is snapping out of some dark curl-induced trance. She opens the door and half steps out, looking back to Eve one last time despite her best efforts to just keep moving.

“Wear it down.”

She walks back to the stage, now annoyed with herself for her sudden and inexplicable inability to quip back at Eve. 

_So annoying._

It must be that she is suffering from a rare side effect of jet lag, Villanelle decides, though she is never jet lagged. Jet lag is some figment of imagination made up by the weak minded and lazy, but that is the only thing that can explain whatever that shit was in the ladies’ room. 

Villanelle takes a bottle of water from the selection of backstage refreshments and pushes her way through the curtains onto the stage. She walks to her moderator’s chair and turns to look at the harsh white display screen behind her.

 _Champagne Fest 2019_ _Seminar 1_

_The Evolution of Ambonnay_

_Moderator: Villanelle Astankova_

_Panelists: Pierre Richard, Jean Sebastien Durand, Eve Polastri_

Maybe Villanelle should have prepared for this seminar.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“We have a few minutes remaining. Are there any questions from the audience?”

Villanelle was asked to reserve time at the end for questions. She does not want to take questions. No one in the audience is capable of posing the thoughtful or compelling questions Villanelle does, it is such a waste of time to even bother with this exercise.

She lets out an annoyed sigh and gestures to the slender man with the long, slightly waivy brown hair and poorly groomed facial hair who has his arm raised. The name on his placard reads Diego. Villanelle can’t make out which company he is with.

He pushes his chair back and stands.

“I have a question for Mrs. Polastri.”

“It’s Miss,” Villanelle corrects him.

“Uh, Miss Polastri?”

“Yes,” Eve answers. She is concentrating awfully hard on this nobody and his babbling. Villanelle suspects she has to, otherwise she will continue to glance over in her direction. 

She caught Eve glancing at her through her curls far too many times during the hour-long discussion for it to be a coincidence. At first, Eve sat upright, her eyes were narrowed and focused as if she anticipated Villanelle would try to trip her up with the questions or topics lobbed her way. As the hour wore on, Eve’s posture softened, her brows furrowed and she seemed puzzled by Villanelle’s professionalism. 

Keeping Eve unsure of Villanelle’s next move is hilarious and gives her the upper hand in their ongoing sparing match. She needs it after the bathroom debacle.

“You mentioned the benefits of practicing organics earlier,” Diego begins. “You said something about a perceived difference in both aromatics and mouth feel.”

“That’s right,” Eve says.

“And I am just wondering why you suddenly feel this way after you spent most of your career working for company known to use chemicals and additives, and produced wines that the moderator describes as artificial?”

Villanelle wants to shoot this man. 

_Bang._

_In the head_

Much to her credit, Eve shows little sign the question troubles her in any way. It is unlikely anyone other than Villanelle actually notices her right hand grip the seat of her chair, knuckles turning white for half a heartbeat then relaxing. 

Villanelle feels the urge to cut in, to defend Eve from this shithead named Diego. But it will not help Eve or her reputation if she does. More importantly, Eve need this opportunity to explain what happened in the past and what has changed. Villanelle believes in Eve’s new direction for The Bridge.

“What’s your name,” Eve asks, squinting to read the name on the placard.

“It’s Diego. I’m with –“

Eve cuts him off. 

“Thanks for the question, Diego. You’re absolutely right to point out that my previous employer isn’t exactly known for it’s environmentally friendly farming.” She takes a breath. 

“Nor is its style targeted to the people in this room or the nuances of terroir. I think the moderator said those wines are for normal people,” Eve uses her middle and pointer fingers to make air quotes, “or something to that effect. I’m sure you can appreciate that we might not always see eye to eye with our employers, I certainly didn’t.”

Eve most certainly does not need Villanelle’s help. 

“But I believe in organic farming and the quality difference it produces,” Eve continues. “And quite frankly, we should all aspire to it, even the large wineries making wines for normal people. The sparkling wines I’m starting to produce now are from a vineyard that is transitioning to organics and I hope everyone, from serious collectors to normal people, will enjoy them.”

Villanelle wants to jump out of her skin. She knows Eve took a swipe at her for being snobbish but she does not care in the least. 

Watching her turn Diego’s question around and shove it firmly down his throat like she did is quite possibly the sexiest thing Villanelle has ever witnessed. She thought Eve was attractive before, bickering included. It is downright unfair at this stage. 

Villanelle has to do something about this before she combusts.

“Yes. Thank you, Eve,” Villanelle says. “We are out of time. Thank you for the very rude question, Diego.”

After a brief round of applause, people collect their belonging and make their way for the exit doors. The panelists shake hands with one another. Then they shake Villanelle’s hand – Jean Sebastien is first, then Pierre. Before she can walk over to speak with Eve, she sees dark curls turning and disappear behind the curtains. 

Villanelle also ducks backstage, not because she is following or chasing Eve. That is not something she does. They happen to be heading the same direction.

“Eve.”

_Maybe this is chasing, but only just a little._

Eve stops and turns to Villanelle, scowling.

“What is it?”

Villanelle frowns, confused by the terse sound in Eve’s voice.

“I thought you would be happy. You were excellent and I have very high standards.”

“Why would I be happy about being called out publicly, thanks to you?”

Villanelle does not understand what’s happening, her face twisting, trying to find the right reaction for whatever this is. 

“Come on, Eve. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not. You obviously don’t get it. Or get anything I just said up there.” Eve flails her arms then rests her right hand on her forehead, left hand on her hip. 

“The things you say and write matter. They have an actual impact… on people’s lives. _My_ life. The lives of the people who work for me. And you don’t give a shit about any of it.”

Villanelle puts her hands in her pockets. Eve is so dramatic. When will she let go of this article business?

“When are you going to stop blaming me for your life? I am not responsible for your choices.”

“I’m not blaming you for my choices. I’m telling you to grow the fuck up and have a modicum of self-awareness.”

Villanelle sneers and rolls her eyes as Eve walks out the door.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle sits on the bed in her hotel suite overlooking Central Park. It’s barely noon, but she has no motivation to leave or explore the city. She does not even want to shop. She hasn’t moved from this spot since she returned from Pier 60. Villanelle wonders if she has grown roots, like a vine, that fixes her in place.

While rooted, all she can do is listen to the soft but constant sounds of New York City car horns and think about Eve. For the second time, her interactions with Eve have gone sideways through no fault of her own. Villanelle can usually spot conflict from a mile away, not with Eve. She is continually left guessing what the brunette with amazing hair will do or say next.

Villanelle never works this hard for anyone or anything. Puzzles do not usually interest her. They are a waste of time and energy and only provide a momentary sense of gratification when the pieces seamlessly snap together and the picture forms. 

But Eve is something different, a three-dimensional puzzle shifting itself with each new piece Villanelle tries to place. She is worthy of the challenge. Villanelle is going to find a way to solve the Rubik cube that Eve is proving herself to be.

She rolls across her bed with renewed resolve and dials the hotel’s concierge. When the line picks up, it’s an automated directory.

“Hello. Thank you for choosing The Ritz-Carlton Central Park. How may I assist you today?”

“Please transfer me to Eve Polastri’s room.”

“Okay.You want a transfer. Please state the name or room number of the guest you wish to call.”

“Eve Polastri.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Please tell me who you wish to call.”

“Eve Polastri,” Villanelle says through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Please tell me who you wish to call.”

“Eve Polastri! You piece of shit!”

Villanelle slams the phone back into its cradle and storms out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and following this little story! I'm so glad you are all enjoying it. Comments and kudos continue to be appreciated.
> 
> If you want to say hi, I'm on twitter @KRKacs and tumblr @ kai-oz23. I'm debating whether or not to post the inspo for Eve and Carolyn's wineries on twitter, so if you're interested in that, let me know.
> 
> Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying that I am so very appreciative of the creatives in the fandom, the _REAL_ fic writers (not hacks like me) and the artists who have said they plan to continue with their stories and art. I agree that we all love these characters so very much and I want to continue to write this weird little story about wines and love, starring my two favorite fictional characters of all time.
> 
> With that said, I completely understand why this is so hard for so many people. It’s not easy to separate a character from the actor who portrays the character.
> 
> Performative allyship is unacceptable and total bullshit. Period. End of story. 
> 
> Catfishing is also unacceptable and total bullshit.
> 
> Now – for the chapter  
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> There is no POV wine here for Eve’s chapter. The wine is in the chapter and I don’t want to give it away.
> 
> I have taken artistic license on airfare frequent flyer programs for the sake of this chapter. Did I look up the BA first class wine list while researching – Yes, I did.

# Chapter 6: Own-Rooted

The repeated knocking on her hotel room door forces Eve back from her semi-conscious, jet lagged state. Eve is at the point where she is so sleep starved that her body is completely rejecting the idea. It just rebels despite every cell inside yawning in desperation. 

_“Ignore her. She’s suffering from severe jet lag."_

__

“Asshole,” Eve mumbles to herself, the sound muffled by the pillow covering her face. At least her body remembers enough to substitute ‘ass’ for ‘arse’ on this side of the Atlantic. 

__

She had no intention of being in New York City for Champagne Fest, and certainly no intention of dealing with Villanelle. But after receiving a last minute email in ALL CAPS from her friend Jess, pleading that she step in for another vigernon who canceled, Eve reluctantly agreed to participate.

__

In truth, the only reason she actually said yes was to get Elena off her back. Her business manager insisted that Champagne Fest would be a great way to work on the rebranding for The Bridge. It took two days of badgering to wear Eve down and finally force her to reply to Jess’s email.

__

Elena was right, of course. Positioning herself and the winery in people’s minds as something more in line with likes of Champagne than the horrid stuff pumped out by Polastri Wine Group is exactly what Eve needs to do. She only wishes she could do it without the constant reminders of the past coming back to haunt her, most notably in the form of a tall, blonde Russian. 

__

Eve’s attendance was conditioned on a short turn around – she flew in to JFK on Thursday afternoon, participated in a panel this morning, and is booked on a return flight to Heathrow early Saturday morning. There is too much work to be done in the winery and she is keen to get back. 

__

However, there is something to be said for time zone acclimation. Eve regrets her itinerary as she lay on her bed with the pillow pressed against her face.

__

_Knock. Knock._

__

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

__

She groans, pushes the pillow off of her and checks the clock. It’s barely 2 in the afternoon and the mental math required to figure out 2pm is really 14:00 is far more strenuous than it ever should be. Maths, it seems, do take too much effort in her current state. 

__

Eve walks to the door, looks through the peephole and can’t see anyone or anything on the other side. She removes the chain lock and slowly turns the deadbolt. Eve opens the door and peers her head into the hall. She swivels to the right and left and finds no one in the hallway. 

__

The lift around the corner from her room dings and Eve can hear the doors open and quickly close. Whoever the mystery knocker was, they’re gone now.

__

As she leans back inside the room and starts to close the door, Eve sees a small black box placed perfectly in the center of the door’s threshold. Perplexed and sleep deprived, Eve picks it up and closes her door.

__

She sets the box on the table in her room and resumes her prior position, sprawled out on the bed. Eve closes her eyes, trying to will herself to sleep. 

__

Nothing happens. Her entire body feels like a lead balloon encased in concrete, but sleep remains elusive.

__

Eve sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, her concrete legs falling heavy on the carpeted floor. She checks the clock again and it taunts her with the bright green 2:13 on display.  
Eve hasn’t eaten lunch yet and there is still a Champagne Fest charity dinner and auction tonight. She already has an excuse lined up for her absence, just in case she decides not to attend.

__

She runs her hands through her hair and massages her scalp, thinking.

__

The last thing Eve wants to do is suffer through a dinner with a room full of winemakers and collectors that no longer respect her work, if the response she received this morning is any indication of their true opinions. They’re all wrong anyhow, whether they know it yet or not. She’ll show them in due time, there’s no doubt about that.

__

There is only one opinion from one particular asshole that mattered, matters, to Eve of late.

__

_Villanelle._

__

She will probably be front and center at the dinner, playing master of ceremonies. Villanelle will be in another outrageous outfit that no reasonable person should wear and she will manage to look amazing and simultaneously nauseating. 

__

It was exasperating to watch from across the stage as Villanelle’s presence overwhelmed everything about the panel. The blonde had a way about her that commanded the room full of people to hang onto her words. Eve watched the entire hour slip by as nearly every audience member’s eyes instinctively found their way to Villanelle, over and over. 

__

Even when she isn’t speaking, it’s just something about her that demands everyone’s focus – including Eve’s.

__

Thinking about Villanelle, she finds a way to tap into a hidden reserve of energy as she thinks of spiting the irreproachable woman with her new wines. For starters, Eve has never lost her skill, but it’s been dormant for last half decade. More importantly, Eve knows how she’s going to prove it.

__

She will go home and return to her roots as a wine grower. That was how Eve found success initially, by not forcing a flavour or style out of the wine, but letting the grapes and the place that made them speak for themselves. It’s meticulous process though, to follow every moment of evolution in her wines and understand what it wants to be in three, four, ten years time.

__

She will taste through every single barrel, every single day if she has to, just to show that little prick it’s possible to achieve what Eve knows she can from her vines and the unique composition of her land. 

__

Then she’ll watch in eager anticipation as the blonde realises Eve never lost her touch or her unique voice, it was always there, smothered until now. Villanelle will know as soon as she drinks Eve’s sparkling wines – that they are complex, thoughtful and terroir-driven for the elitists, but also friendly and welcoming for the ‘normal people.’ 

__

_That_ is what Villanelle doesn’t understand, and it’s how Eve is going to turn it all around.

__

It is so much harder to find the balance – to inspire the collectors and the nice, normal people in equal measure. Everyone deserves to drink wines that create feelings and experiences, no matter what type of car they drive or restaurants they may frequent. 

__

The emotions and memories created by a single, great glass of wine. That’s what it was always about for Eve. That is the reason she fell in love with wine in the first place. 

__

As a child, her parents opened bottles of Champagne to commemorate anniversaries or promotions, or selected whatever reds and whites were best for their meals. When she got older, her parents would pour her a glass of wine at dinner that always managed to pair perfectly with her mother’s cooking – Austrian Riesling and kimchi udon noodle stir fry remains Eve’s favourite food and wine pairing of all time.

__

So many memories set around her parents’ lovingly worn in wood dining table in Connecticut are bookended with a corresponding wine. She wants people from all walks of life, in far off corners of the world, to bookend their memories with wines from The Bridge.

__

There is still so much work to be done to get to that point. 

__

Eve decides that it’s better to get a full day’s worth of rest and return to the winery ready to hit the ground running. She picks up her phone and texts Jess an apologetic excuse for her inevitable no show. Thankfully, Jess accepts the lie without much handwringing. 

__

With a sigh of relief, she looks to the table and the mysterious black box that suddenly calls to her. 

__

It’s as if she is a snake and the box is playing a spellbinding, snake-charming tune.

__

Eve walks over and lifts the rectangular lid off the box. Inside she sees matte gold tissue paper covering the contents of the package and a small, white card. 

__

> __
> 
> _Sorry  
>  Baby  
>  X_

__  


__

The words are scrawled in large, flowing capital letters, in a handwriting Eve does not recognise. She flips the card to the other side in search of any clue as to the sender. The back is blank.

__

With thoughts too clouded by her plans and lack of sleep to think about the card any further, she peels back the tissue paper to reveal the unmistakable red foil of a wine bottle. Eve carefully frees the bottle from the box.

__

She turns the heavy glass in her hands to view the label. Eve is speechless when she notices what she’s holding.

__

It’s a 1978 Châteauneuf-du-Pape, her birth year wine. 1978 was a mixed bag as far as vintages go, but the Rhone Valley managed to make excellent, age-worthy wines. Eve has drunk a handful of ‘78s over the years. None of them can hold a candle to the wine before her. She doesn’t even have to drink it to know that much, because this isn’t any 1978, it’s a Chateau Rayas. 

__

The most prized, sought after wine from the Rhone, made up of only Grenache grapes by the now deceased, notorious recluse, Jacques Reynaud. Eve had heard stories from friends and fellow winemakers over the years, like old wives tales, about Reynaud and the way he would hide in bushes or behind walls to avoid guests and visitors. 

__

Eve is so utterly astounded by the sight of the Rayas, she nearly loses her grip on the bottle and drops it on the hotel room floor. She catches it before it fully slips from her grasp and delicately sets it back on the table.

__

To call this a ‘unicorn wine,’ one of those rare wines you may only see or taste once in your life, is an understatement. This is a birth year unicorn wine – it’s a unicorn riding over a fucking rainbow that leads to the Holy Grail.

__

Eve scoops up her phone and opens her WhatsApp thread with Elena.

__

Eve: Elena! Holy shit! I can’t believe you guys did this. 

__

Eve sits back on the bed and waits for the reply.

__

_Elena: What r u talking about_

__

Eve: The Rayas. You really didn’t have to.

__

Eve: The sorry baby note is a little weird though.

__

_Elena: We didnt_

__

_Elena: wait..Rayas like Chateau Rayas?_

__

_Elena: Sorry baby???_

__

Eve: Yes. The 78 Rayas that was sitting in front of my hotel room door.

__

As she watches her screen, Eve’s mind starts to race.

__

_Elena: It wasnt us_

__

_Elena: But dont be greedy_

__

_Elena: Bring it back to share!!!_

__

She laughs at that.

__

Eve: I will. This is so weird. Who would have sent this?

__

_Elena: Maybe its a thank you from Jess?_

__

Eve: No. I don’t think so.

__

_Elena: Then I dont know what to tell u_

__

_Elena: Sorry baby ;)_

__

_Elena: lol_

__

Eve: Very funny

__

She locks her phone and sits for several minutes in stunned silence. Eve replays the knocking at the door, the empty hallway and the sound of the lift. None of that evidence offers a lead as to the identity of sender.

__

Eve reaches over and picks up the handwritten card again. She runs her pointer finger over each letter, slowly, in the hopes it will all click. And then, like a freight train barreling straight toward her, it does.

__

Somehow, Eve knows – only one stuck up, smug asshole would write something like this.

__

_Villanelle._

__

“Motherfucker!”

__

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

__

Eve is frantic as she steps up to the open check in counter for her flight. After finally managing to get some sleep last night, she woke up twenty minutes late this morning, had no time to shower, threw on wrinkled clothes at the top of her suitcase and rushed to the airport.

__

She hands her passport and boarding pass to the attendant.

__

“Is there any way you can move my seat,” she pleads.

__

The absolute last thing Eve needs right now is to be shoved into a cramped middle seat for the next seven hours.

__

“Give me a moment, ma’am. I’ll see what I can do.”

__

“Thanks,” Eve says as she turns to see the long security line that awaits her.

__

“Eve,” she hears someone say behind her. She doesn’t want to turn around. 

__

Eve knows that raspy voice anywhere. The distinct accent, the way the first E lingers in the air and makes everything around her heavy. It grates at her ears like nails on a chalkboard.

__

“We have to stop running into each other like this.”

__

“Jesus Christ,” Eve says as she finally turns around to face her nemesis. “Did you put a tracking device on me or something?”

__

Eve takes half a second to study Villanelle, because, of course. Of course Villanelle is standing at the counter next to her because she’s on the same flight as Eve. Of course she is flying first class. And of course Villanelle is one of those assholes that would show up for a flight like she is about to hit the runway of a fashion show instead of an airport. 

__

She’s in a dark green bomber jacket, navy pants and combat boots laced tightly up to her mid calf. This just makes it worse because Villanelle manages to look effortlessly fucking cool and sexy at the same time. 

__

_What a dick._

__

“I’m here for my flight,” Villanelle says with that devilish smirk. 

__

That smirk makes Eve’s blood start to boil.

__

“Whatever. Make sure you stay away from me.”

__

“I do not think that will be a problem. They keep first class separate from the other passengers.”

__

Eve rolls her eyes.

__

Villanelle hands her passport and boarding pass to the far more pleasant attendant in the first class check in line.

__

“Thank you for flying with us again, Miss Astankova. We thank you for being an Executive Club platinum member. Please give me a moment and I will have another staff member take your bags to the first class lounge.”

__

“Thank you,” Villanelle says to the attendant, though her eyes remain locked on Eve.

__

Eve groans.

__

“I’m sorry,” Eve’s own useless attendant finally says. “You’ve purchased a non-refundable, non-exchangeable economy light ticket. I can’t move your seat.”

__

“Oh. Okay,” Eve responds dejectedly. 

__

She takes her passport and ticket, lifts the handle to her carry-on suitcase and starts out toward the never-ending security line.

__

“Eve. Wait.”

__

She stops in her tracks. Though her neurons tell her legs to keep moving, her body seems to have ideas of its own and Eve turns back to Villanelle.

__

“I’d like to redeem my annual companion ticket,” Villanelle says to her attendant.

__

“Certainly, Miss Astankova.”

__

Eve stands anchored to her spot on the linoleum floor, like the stickiness of it has trapped her. She stares at Villanelle, unsure of what is unfolding.

__

“I need your passport if you want me to save you from the torture of the middle seat in coach,” Villanelle says as she extends one hand to Eve, palm up.

__

“I’ll be fine. I don’t need any help from you. I like the middle seat.”

__

Villanelle puts the hand on her hip as she leans against the check in desk and raises an eyebrow.

__

“You do not have to lie to me. No one likes coach, it is like being in hell, but worse and with far less interesting people. If you would rather sit cramped in the back than sit in first class with a lie flat seat, that is your choice.”

__

A bed and the prospect of actual, edible airplane food is enticing. 

__

As much as she desperately wants to say no, to tell Villanelle to piss off, the idea of sitting in a middle seat where she is stuck between a frazzled parent and a screaming dependent is a special kind of hell Eve wants to avoid at all costs.

__

“Fine. Here. But this doesn’t mean I’m not still angry.” Eve hands her passport to Villanelle who, in turn, hands it to the first class attendant. 

__

“Okay. Whatever you say, Eve,” Villanelle answers with her back turned as she deals with the ticketing process.

__

In moments, Eve has a new boarding pass and another airline concierge ushers the women to lift for the swanky first class lounge.

__

As they ride the private lift up to the lounge, Eve thinks back to the birth year wine and the note that sit in her checked luggage. 

__

After a mild existential crisis in her room last night, Eve ultimately decided to keep the wine instead of opening it and dumping it down the sink for vindication. She is a wine enthusiast after all, and she is never one to pass up a great bottle. 

__

That was what she told herself at least.

__

This time, Eve can’t find a reason to justify what Villanelle’s just done for her, or why she so willingly went along.

__

“Do not think so much, Eve. We are colleagues. It is a professional courtesy to assist a colleague in distress.” Villanelle cuts the silence but faces straight ahead toward the lift doors. “But… a thank you would be nice.”

__

“Uhm, except we’re not colleagues and I’m not in distress,” Eve bites back. 

__

It is so much easier to deal with the arrogant, slightly psychopathic Villanelle. That is the version of Villanelle that Eve has spent a year’s worth of time and energy detesting. That version is the one Eve is determined to prove wrong.

__

Her brain does not have space for this Villanelle, it’s almost sweet and makes Eve doubt some of the animosity she’s felt toward her.

__

“Thanks,” she finally forces out, barely above a whisper.

__

“I am an excellent person. You would know this if you were not so busy shouting at me all the time,” Villanelle says as the lift door open and they walk into the lounge.

__

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

__

Eve sits in her very comfortable lie flat seat with her feet up, fully prone. She has already watched two movies and eaten the tastiest lunch she’s had in months. She sips on her Laurent-Pierre Grand Siecle Champagne and takes in her surroundings.

__

Admittedly, this is without a doubt the best flying experience she has ever had. But there is a knot building in the pit of her stomach. When she turns to her right to see blonde hair slowly rising and following in the seat laid out next to her, the knot tightens.

__

Villanelle didn’t say a word to Eve the entire time they were in the airport lounge. In fact, Villanelle had immediately walked to the only open lounge chair facing the runway and put on her headphones and left Eve to fend for herself. 

__

She found her own spot and kicked up her feet on a small, private sofa, pulled out her iPad and responded to her growing mountain on unread emails.

__

Now, they are seated next to each other on the plane, if you can even call the seats in first class next to one another. There is so much space in the cabin that Eve can cartwheel through it without disturbing a soul. 

__

As soon as they boarded, Villanelle asked the flight attendant to set up her bed. Before the wheels were up, she was sound asleep, once again leaving Eve to her own devices. Lost in her thoughts, the ding of the intercom interrupts.

__

“Hello, this is your captain speaking. We have begun our descent to London Heathrow and should be on the ground within thirty minutes. Your flight attendants will be making their way around the cabin shortly to ensure your tray tables are locked and your seats are returned to their upright position. On behalf of myself and this New York City based crew, thank you for flying with us today. Have a pleasant stay in London.”

__

Eve reluctantly hits the buttons on her console and slides her seat back up from a bed to its traditional form. She unbuckles her seatbelt and walks across the aisle to lightly tap Villanelle.

__

“Villanelle,” she whispers.

__

There’s no response.

__

“Villanelle,” she tries again.

__

Still no response.

__

Impatiently, Eve tugs at Villanelle’s arm and begins to shake her.

__

“Villanelle. Wake up.”

__

“Uhhhh. Go away, Eve.”

__

“No. You have to get up, we’re about to land.”

__

“So? I am still sleeping.”

__

“You have to wake up. The captain said to put your seats back and prepare for landing.”

__

“This is first class, Eve. The rules do not apply to us,” Villanelle says as she rolls over and pulls her blanket over her head.

__

Eve smiles to herself.

__

“The rules apply to everyone. Don’t be a dick.”

__

Villanelle huffs and slides her eye mask on top of her head. 

__

“Fine. I will wake up. But I am not moving my bed back. Out of principal.”

__

Eve can’t help but smile a little wider at Villanelle’s ever so slightly disheveled, sleepy look. It’s such a contrast from the polished sheen Eve is used to from her. It’s almost cute.

__

This adds to the now growing list of versions of Villanelle that Eve seems to have a complicated, soft spot for.

__

Eve sits back in her seat and returns to her movie. The knot in her stomach twists tighter.

__

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

__

The captain turns off the fasten seatbelt sign and Villanelle plops Eve’s bag down in front of her before she has time to stand. Villanelle proceeds to grab her own bag, lifts the handle and disembarks the plane.

__

They silently walk side-by-side up the boarding bridge and Eve notices the unsettling feeling of déjà vu. The last time she walked beside Villanelle, they were entwined in thoughtful conversation about The Bridge and Eve’s life. It was the best conversation she’d had that day, there was no contest. 

__

Of course, Villanelle also lied and Eve spent the afternoon believing she was another person entirely. 

__

She is struck by the thought that Natalie, or the charming conversationalist that Villanelle had been that day, is yet another version of the blonde to her right. 

__

_How many are there?_

__

Eve decides that she needs to know.

__

When they reach the airport, however, Villanelle picks up her pace.

__

“Hey. Can you slow down a minute,” Eve calls to her.

__

Villanelle stops and turns.

__

“I am just doing what you asked, Eve. You must not remember because you didn’t get beauty sleep on the plane like me, though I don’t need it, obviously. But you told me to stay away from you.”

__

_Oh._

__

“Yeah, I know what I said. We’re on a different continent now, so I’m asking you to wait up.”

__

The corners of Villanelle’s mouth curl upward as she starts to walk again, but shortens her stride for Eve.

__

“Okay.”

__

They walk silently through the airport to the passport control point. Villanelle waits for Eve to get through the queue because yet again, Villanelle has to be one of those people with the fancy ass expedited screening privileges. 

__

_But she waits._

__

She waits again while Eve watches the carousel spin and deposit her checked bag.

__

When they reach the exit, Villanelle pulls out her phone.

__

“Do you need a ride,” she asks.

__

“You’re going to Kent?”

__

“No, I’m going home.” She pops her should nonchalantly and continues, “ But I do not want to leave you stranded. You do not seem yourself, you’re being nice to me.”

__

“Ha,” Eve chortles. “Blame it on the jet lag you mentioned the other day. And no, I’m not stranded. I have my car over in one of the car parks.”

__

“Okay.” Villanelle flashes a small grin, but her brow is furrowed slightly, like she is unsure of what to do next. 

__

Eve watches the momentary uneasiness and takes a small amount of pleasure in it. 

__

Finally, Villanelle says, “Goodbye, Eve.”

__

“Goodbye, Villanelle.”

__

Eve lingers for a moment as she watches her walk away, effortlessly slipping in and out of the crowded sidewalks and into a taxi.

__

She feels the knot tighten one last time, and welcomes it.

__

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

__

“So she bought this for you? Then got you a ticket in first class?”

__

“Yes.”

__

“You’re sure she bought it?”

__

“Yes. I’m sure.”

__

“A Rayas?”

__

“Yes.”

__

“Your birth year?”

__

“Ugh. Yes.”

__

“And there was a note? She called you, ‘baby?’” He draws out the word baby, to push Eve over the edge.

__

“Bloody hell. Yes, Bill. How many more questions are you going to ask?”

__

“Loads,” he says as he raises his eyebrows.

__

Eve walks over to her cupboard and selects the perfect glasses for the wine. Then she rummages through a drawer for the special corkscrew she uses whenever she opens an old bottle.

__

“Don’t make a big deal out of this. Please,” she pouts as she sets the glasses on the table.

__

“I’m not. I’m simply gathering all the facts.”

__

Eve rolls her eyes. She is still working out what it all means – the wine, the flight, all apparently sincere acts. The competing Villanelles have kept Eve up at night, tossing and turning in her bed, since she returned from New York four days ago.

__

“Shut up and open the damn bottle.” She pushes the wine across the table toward him.

__

“Gladly.”

__

Bill cuts the foil and meticulously wedges the prongs of the Durand corkscrew between the cork and glass. He slowly pulls and twists the disintegrating cork free.

__

“Pass me the decanter,” Bill says. 

__

She hands him the carafe and watches the flow of the beautiful, pale garnet colour liquid. 

__

With the wine decanted, Eve fills each of their glasses.

__

Bill raises his glass to Eve. He loves to make toasts whenever they drink memorable bottles together.

__

“To Villanelle,” he says.

__

“Really?”

__

“What, he asks as he shrugs his shoulders. “She bought it, didn’t she?”

__

Eve shakes her head and clinks her glass against Bill’s. 

__

She brings the wine to her nose, gently swirls it a few times and closes her eyes as she inhales. Her senses are overwhelmed with the aromas of raspberry compote, licorice and mocha. Eve takes a sip and sighs.

__

She opens her eyes and looks at Bill.

__

“Fuck. That’s wonderful,” she admits.

__

“Bugger that. This is best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

__

He’s right. Eve takes another sip and savors the richness of the still firm tannins and acid in the 41 year-old wine. 

__

She savors the memory she creates of its taste, of sharing it with Bill, of her time with Villanelle, and files it all away in her mind.

__

“I don’t have a clue what you did to that woman. Whatever it is, you better keep it up.” He grins.

__

_Neither do I._

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for hanging in for this story and through all of this.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> I'm on twitter and tumblr. I recently posted the inspo for The Bridge and Domaine Martens, so you can find those pics on twitter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve sucks at cooking. She sucks even more at avoiding Villanelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I thought about Eve trying to cook a turkey, I was reminded of the scene in Christmas Vacation where Clark goes to cut the bird and serve it. So just think of that.
> 
> A few housekeeping items...this is definitely going to go longer than 18 chapters. I'm aiming for wrapping it in 20 but who knows.
> 
> Also, I'm going to go back to updating on Fridays but this has been a crazy week and today was the most free time I've had.
> 
> Eve's POV wine for this chapter is Chenin Blanc - really great Chenin from schisty soils in the Loire Valley have a wonderful complexity that can sometimes seem like a counter-intuitive dichotomy. The acidity makes the wines rather linear, but possess the kind of powerful structure that keeps them rounded. The aromas do the same thing - wafting between pear, herbs and earthy notes.
> 
> This is contrast in opposite is exactly what's happening in Eve's head at the moment.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 7: Decanting

Eve hovers in front of the oven and waits.

This is not her area of expertise. It’s not even something she pretends to do proficiently. 

Her greatest culinary skill is her ability to order delivery.

Niko had always been the cook and for good reason. While she watches the turkey slowly roasting through the small window of the oven door, dumbfounded about what it is she should be watching or looking for, Eve suspects one of the reasons she even stayed married to Niko as long as she did was to avoid this scenario. 

Trying to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for her friends is waking nightmare all of her own making.

In Eve’s defense, it seemed liked a good idea at the time to continue her tradition of hosting Thanksgiving dinner for her friends, sans Niko. It was also a much welcomed distraction from the onslaught of thoughts that occupied Eve’s every waking moment since she got back from New York. 

Most of those thoughts, all of those thoughts, include a certain Russian woman who will not be named. Anything to distract from those thoughts, even if it means Eve ends up burning her house down while making this dinner.

Thanksgiving was always her favourite holiday as a child.

Eve would spend the early part of the day watching her mom scurry around the kitchen mixing, mashing and basting. From time to time, Eve would be handed a spoon or spatula or asked to measure a few ingredients, and that was all she ever did. She wishes now that she’d bothered to actually help or learn something, _anything,_ about cooking beyond her ability to make dumplings.

Nothing on the menu tonight is within her limited skill set.

She should have made dumplings, it would have been far less stressful than this.

As a teen, Eve became the self-appointed Thanksgiving sommelier despite the fact that she had no clue what she was doing. Her parents were wonderful at humouring her in that way. For the first few years, she would open whatever wine the neighbours brought and the most eye-catching label from her parents’ small cellar. 

It’s an onerous task to select appropriate wine pairings for Thanksgiving, there are simply far too many cream-based vegetable dishes. 

As she got older, however, Eve developed a better understanding for which wines actually would and wouldn’t match with the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and the Korean dishes like sigeumchi namul, oi muchim, and gaji bokkeum that made up their Thanksgiving dinner spread. 

Sparkling wines and Sauvignon Blanc were amoung the better choices, while Cabernet Sauvignon was one of the worst.

Momentarily satisfied with the current status of the meal prep, Eve fills a glass of water and melts into the sofa to give herself a much-needed break. She puts her feet up, stretches her spine and lets her head settle into one of the blue accent pillows.

_Who knew cooking for six people would be so exhausting?_

She wakes up when she hears Elena using her key to unlock the front door.

“Hello? Eve?”

“Yeah, I’m in here,” she calls through her drowsiness.

“Is it some sort of rude American tradition to not answer the door?”

“Sorry. I, uh – I must have fallen asleep for a second.”

Eve instantly remembers the food. She turns her eyes to the kitchen and her oven and the comedically cliché spirals of grey smoke pushing out of its door.

“Son of a bitch!”

She rushes over, pulls down the oven door and waves away the much thicker, darker smoke that billows out. Eve puts on her oven mitts and attempts to save the turkey. 

She drops the roasting pan onto her kitchen island with loud _thud._

Eve walks around the turkey, scrutinizing it. It appears salvageable at first glance, the skin is a shade of some sort of goldenish-brown like the recipe she found online. 

Elena walks into the kitchen.

“I’m no expert on Thanksgiving or anything, but is it supposed to look like that?” Elena uses her pointer finger and makes a circle motion around the bird.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?” Eve stands on the tips of her toes and bobs her head back and forth over it, checking again for any signs of a problem.

“It looks… I don’t know. A little blackened,” Elena says as she drops her lower lip down to one corner of her mouth. 

“Oh, fuck me. It does.” Eve puts her palm to her forehead.

“Maybe it’ll taste better?”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Eve responds hopefully.

She turns back to the counter and finds the carving knife.

Eve slowly cuts a small slice of meat from the turkey breast. It’s a challenge to break through the tough, hardened skin. She doesn’t know much about cooking, but Eve is fairly certain this is not a good sign. When she finally works one piece free, the steam from the overcooked meat creates a low, _“pppssssshhhh”_ sound.

Eve immediately begins to feel a swell of embarrassment for ruining her Thanksgiving dinner. It builds within her gut. 

“How is it,” Elena asks.

_Shit._

She senses the feeling of failure start to join the mix and Eve is suddenly overwhelmed with the idea that her first Thanksgiving is in shambles.

“Fuck, Elena. I can't serve this,” Eve says in a panic, “what are we going to eat?”

“It’s fine,” Elena answers calmly. “We’ve got you covered.”

Eve raises her brow.

“Don’t be mad,” Elena starts, carefully. “Bill may or may not have told us to bring something, just in case.”

Eve lets out a huge sigh of relief.

“So I take it you people had no faith in me,” Eve asks with a small smile. She opens a drawer and retrieves a potato peeler.

“No. We didn’t. Don’t be hard done by it. We know you’re a shite cook and we love you, that’s all.” Elena flashes a wide grin.

Eve rolls her eyes but continues to smile.

“Well, are you going to tell me what you brought?” She starts peeling a potato as she asks.

“I made lasagna,” Elena says as she puffs out her chest a bit. “I’ll go to my car and grab it now. Just needs a quick re-heat.”

“Lasagna? Real fucking festive, Elena.”

“How was I supposed to know? This is my first Thanksgiving. And beggars can’t be choosers, Eve.”

“I didn’t beg,” Eve huffs. “I didn’t even ask for lasagna.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve returns to the table with the full water pitcher. She sits back in her chair as Kenny passes her a refilled glass of Sancerre.

She hands her plate to Bill and asks, “Will you give me another slice of white meat, please?”

“Of course,” he says with a wry smile.

Bill is a true lifesaver. Someday she’ll remember to thank him for knowing her well enough to doubt her ability to successfully cook a turkey. When he arrived, his hands were filled with a perfectly prepared bird and various containers for the host of sides he had already made. 

The sight was a huge relief for Eve. She can always count on Bill to come through.

“Eve,” Konstantin says. “Thank you for letting me join your dinner. I have never been to Thanksgiving.”

“Of course. It’s my pleasure.”

Truth be told, Eve didn’t have much choice in the matter. Carolyn had phoned her this morning to notify her, not ask, that she would be bringing Konstantin with her to dinner.

“So,” he continues, “did Villanelle behave herself at Champagne Fest? I hear she moderated your panel. I did not know you would be one of the speakers.”

This is an unwelcome line of inquiry by her unwelcome guest. Eve is doing everything she can to avoid any mention of the blonde, including a brief attempt at hot yoga one day last week. Unfortunately, her friends have made it nearly impossible to do so. They always managed to bring her into conversations, even when it was wholly irrelevant.

Unbeknownst to them, Eve’s been wrestling internally with how to comprehend her competing feelings for the woman since she returned from New York.

“Define behave?”

“Ha! Ha ha! That is funny. You are funny, Eve.”

“Thanks,” Eve says half-heartedly. She does little to hide her annoyance at this new topic. “The panel was fine. The usual stuff, as expected.”

Eve hopes her short, brusque words are enough to bring an end to any talk of Villanelle.

“What’s the story with her,” Bill probes.

“Yeah,” Elena joins in. “What’s she like?”

_So much for that._

“She’s a giant pain in my ass. That’s what she’s like,” Eve blurts out as she puts her wine to her lips. She wants to put a stop to their questions as soon as possible.

“You are right. She really is an annoying little shit,” Konstantin affirms. “But I think you may also be mistaken, Eve. Villanelle is not out to get you. That is just who she is.”

“Could have fooled me,” Eve replies before taking another sip of wine in desperation. 

She needs someone to actually take the hint and move on from this.

“Ha. Yes, I know. I have told her many times to tone down her words. She does not listen so well. I think she was especially hard on you because she admires you.”

Eve nearly spits out her drink as she laughs.

“Admire? I find that hard to believe.”

“No. It’s true. When she first started working for The Twelve, I asked her which wine she wanted as her welcome gift. I expected someone like Villanelle to say DRC or Petrus, something like that. She wanted your Champagne instead.” Konstantin turns to Carolyn as he says it.

“Yes, and I had to twist Eve’s arm to secure your case,” Carolyn says. “She was awfully protective of her wines then. Don’t you remember the way you argued with me over your last case,” she asks as she looks toward Eve.

“No. That can’t be true. It makes no sense.” Eve is in disbelief.

“I still have the ledger journals from the sale of your wines. You are welcome to inspect them. As you know, I keep impeccable records of all sales.” Carolyn pushes her empty plate forward then laces her fingers together and rests them on the wooden dining table.

“I know. It makes no sense. But that’s what happened,” Konstantin says as he chews a slice of dark meat. “I think you were her favourite winemaker for a time, actually. That is why she felt so strongly about the Polastri wines. It was like she took it personally.”

“As did I, Konstantin. Everything I’d taught you, Eve, all for naught.” Carolyn next folds her arms across her chest, clearly scolding Eve for some unknown grievance she’s committed.

“Hmmm. Interesting,” Bill says as he wiggles his eyebrows at Eve.

“No. Not interesting.” Eve holds the stem of her glass tighter and nearly applies enough pressure to snap it. “I’m sorry, I call bullshit. There’s no way this is true.” 

Eve always felt like the review had been a bit too personal of an attack but never understood why. She wants to focus on this part, the entirely narcissistic way Villanelle made the review all about her, whether she meant to or not, and it cost Eve so much. 

It seems absolutely impossible to consider, even for a moment, that Villanelle actually respected Eve’s work and that the woman had been somehow disappointed that Eve had not lived up to her full potential. She doesn’t want to entertain the possibility that Villanelle could see what she could or should be when Eve herself had refused to do so.

This is suddenly becoming far too complicated for Eve to process in a room full of people. 

“Where is everyone’s favorite writer now, Konstantin,” Bill asks. 

Eve knows her friends won’t stop until they have interrogated Konstantin to the point that they have a full psychological report on Villanelle. 

She is briefly grateful that they’re currently too interested in learning more about the enigmatic woman who now seems to hang over Eve’s very existence because no one seems to notice her current mental breakdown. 

They continue to delve into the interrogation as Eve continues to lose herself and falls deeper and deeper into her own thoughts.

“I sent her to Spain this week. She is supposed to taste Cava for this year’s holiday issue of The Twelve,” he says as he waves his fork through the air.

“Oh my god! That’s right. I saw her Insta post yesterday. I think she was with Maria Ramos from Casa Torello,” Elena says as she takes her phone from her pocket and begins scrolling. 

“Yeah. Here it is!” She turns her phone toward the table.

“They seem rather… friendly,” Kenny offers.

“Yes, Villanelle has many close friends in Spain.” Konstantin turns back to his plate.

_Close friends?_

Eve can’t stop herself from wondering what it must be like to be friends with Villanelle. She has no intentions of unpacking the sudden shift in her thoughts and the bizarre twinge of curiosity Eve feels bubbling inside her.

Bill glances her way and seems to somehow read Eve’s mind as his eyes connect with hers. It is truly mortifying.

“Close friends? Does she happen to send gifts to her close friends,” he asks.

There is a strong possibility that Eve will kill him at some point.

“No. I don’t think so,” Konstantin says, clearly baffled by the question. “People are always sending free things to her. The boxes take up so much space in the office. I hate it, she is so messy and I end up throwing her things away.”

“You don’t say,” Bill responds.

“So,” Elena continues, “you’re saying it would be rather odd for Villanelle to – I don’t know – send someone a very expensive bottle of wine?”

Now she may also have to kill Elena.

_Great._

Bill and Elena are attacking this like a choreographed good cop-bad cop routine. They both shift their eyes back and forth between Eve and Konstantin.

“I am not sure why you have such an oddly specific question. Like I said, most people give things to Villanelle. She is very generous to the people who are important to her, when she isn’t being an annoying shit,” Konstantin says.

He pauses and thoughtfully considers his next words. “There are not so many of those people in her life.”

“That’s very helpful,” Bill replies.

_No it isn’t._

Eve senses Bill and Elena’s eyes are now solely on her.

She keeps her head down, eyes on her turkey and mashed potatoes. Eve concentrates as hard as she can on her plate, using her fork and following the lines of green and blue that swirl into and out of view on the porcelain between the mounds of food. She wills herself to eat, load up her fork and shovel food into her mouth instead of thinking about anything Konstantin’s said.

It’s an exercise in futility.

Thoughts rush through Eve’s head like a wave crashing down on her.

_Why had Villanelle sent that wine?_

_What was the point of the first class ticket home?_

_Who are the people important to Villanelle?_

_What did Villanelle see that made her write that review?_

Eve lets her fork fall from her hand and loudly _clang_ against her plate. She takes a gulp of Sancerre and prays the conversation ends.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Desserts finished and plates cleared, Elena, Bill and Kenny polish off the final drops in the 2005 Marquis D’Angerville Volnay Clos des Ducs that managed to find its way out of Eve’s cellar and onto the dinner table during the course of the evening.

“Hello. Yes, Irina,” Konstantin says as he answers his phone. “Okay. Okay. We will be out shortly.”

He ends the call and puts his phone in the pocket of his thick, black wool pea coat.

“Your daughter,” Eve asks as she stands next to him by the door. 

She’s thankful he’s finally leaving. Konstantin’s presence, while initially unexpected, is now entirely unwanted. He causes Eve far too much anxiety.

“Yes. She is waiting outside to drive us back to London. She is also so annoying.”

“Right,” Carolyn says as she puts her hands into the pockets of her stylish teal coat. “You will consider my offer of Christmas in France this year, Eve?”

It was a bit of a tradition for Carolyn to extend Eve an invitation to spend Christmas with her in Champagne. Eve secretly suspects that Carolyn gets lonely around this time of year, to the extent she has actual feelings. 

In the past, Eve always declined the invites because she and Niko would host his parents and board members from the Polastri Group on Boxing Day. She hated those parties and how everyone would gather around the tv to obnoxiously watch the Gooners. Eve coped by spending the afternoon drinking alone in the corner of the London flat she previously shared with her ex-husband.

“Thanks, Carolyn. I’ll think about it. Bill’s also invited me to stay with him this year.”

“Very well,” Carolyn says.

As much as Eve loves Bill, his shithousery aside, the idea of imposing on his wife, Keiko, and their overly flatulent toddler sounds significantly less enticing than Christmas in the quiet countryside of Champagne.

“Thank you again for the wonderful evening, Eve. It was so nice to finally meet you,” Konstantin says as he shakes her hand.

“Likewise.” Eve gives him a fake smile.

“Perhaps in the future you will consider letting my writers come to visit, now that we are friends?”

_There it is._

Eve waited all night for Konstantin to broach this topic. She knew Carolyn had brought him for a reason. She wishes he said something at dinner, rather than waxing on about Villanelle for the entire meal. This would have been easier to deal with at the time. 

With the Polastri Wine Group’s ban of The Twelve no longer in place, in theory she could let them back in for tastings if she wants – Eve knows exactly who the assigned writer will be if she does. 

When Villanelle showed up to the re-launch, Eve made it perfectly clear she was still not welcome on the premises.

Things have started to feel far more difficult and confusing since then. 

Villanelle had been kind and genuinely thoughtful. And to be fair to her, Villanelle had no way of knowing why her article had cut Eve so deep. 

Konstantin has only added to the uncertainty.

Be that as it may, she isn’t sure whether she’s ready to extend this much of an olive branch in return yet. 

Eve makes a half-hearted attempt to remind herself that she still feels some lingering pain and embarrassment for allowing her career to go completely to shit for such a long time.

“You really ought to. Despite your sanctimony, these things cannot be avoided,” Carolyn admonishes. 

“Maybe,” she answers honestly.

“Okay.” Konstantin gives her a smile as he leaves. Then he stops in the doorway, turns and says, “You should really let my magazine do a story on you. Villanelle has told me about all of the things you are doing here. She seems very interested in your process and my readers would be interested in these things too.”

As much as she may try to fight it and convince herself that Villanelle is awful, little things continue to chip away at that notion with each passing day. Soon there will be nothing left to cling onto. 

“Goodbye, Konstantin.” Eve gives him another polite smile, hoping her features don’t give away the self-inflicted struggle playing out in her own mind.

Carolyn shakes her head as she leaves without another word.

“Bye, Carolyn,” Eve calls to the woman’s back.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve sits in one of chairs on her terrace on the cool November morning. She looks out over the rolling hills and watches the fog creep slowly across the landscape. Sometimes she forgets that all of this quiet beauty exists when she is so busy spending her days consumed with work and her own thoughts.

It can provide so much clarity, just sitting and watching the natural order of things. This day will build onto the others, each a tiny catalyst for the next vintage. Some days, some weather events are more significant, depending on their timing, but they all play their part.

It’s the same with people, Eve knows. Every interaction or new person you meet is a tiny catalyst that creates a larger story. Some people may cause a virus or rot to set in, others can be as bright and intense as the perfect June sun.

Eve already knows Villanelle is like the most intense type of sunny day. Whether it’s the type that burns or one that nourishes remains unclear.

She hears the sound of the door creak open behind her. 

“Good morning,” Elena sings.

“What’s got you in such a good mood,” Eve asks suspiciously.

“I had a charcoal smoothie this morning. I feel great.”

“That sounds disgusting.” 

“It kinda was, but it really works.”

“Listen,” Eve says as she takes a sip of her coffee. “I have some things I need you to do. There’s a list of names on your desk. I want you to start calling to schedule appointments with a few shops in London. I’m going to work on finding us an importer.”

Elena tilts her head in confusion.

“Okay… am I missing something? We’re in loads of retail shops and we already have an importer.”

“That’s just it though. We don’t have those relationships, Polastri Group does. We need to start finding our own ways onto our customers’ tables.”

After everyone had gone last night, Eve spent several hours once again plotting the new course for The Bridge. It was the only thing she could do to briefly divert her attention from Villanelle.

“Sure thing, mate. I’ll get right on it. But you know – there is something else you _could_ do as well,” Elena offers.

“Yeah. I know. I’ve already emailed Konstantin to set something up.”

The briefest of diversions had also led to one very clear revelation, that there is no way to run from Villanelle.

“Oh my god! Who are you and what have you done with Eve,” Elena jokes.

“I better not end up regretting it. I told him we can do it some time next year, so I can still change my mind.”

Elena walks over to sit in the chair next to Eve.

“You’re doing the right thing. I’m sure of it.”

Eve knows it _is_ the right thing to do for The Bridge, to let people read about how hard her team is working, all of the improvements, the vision for the future. 

What Eve sincerely doubts, however, is that an interview and more time spent with Villanelle is the right thing for her personally. Despite her desire to maintain her resentment, she can’t shake a growing feeling that she may have been wrong about the woman, or at least some version of her.

That is something she can’t outrun any longer. She isn’t even sure she wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your generous response to this fic. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> I'm on twitter and tumblr if you want to chat about this story or just want to say hi.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Villanelle up to something? Is water wet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle's POV wine is the first non-French wine. It was completely unintentional on my part to wait this long for an Italian wine to pop into the mix.
> 
> It's Amarone della Valpolicella - the thing about Amarone is that it takes a long time to make. After the grapes are harvested, they dry out into raisins, which can take around 120 days. This causes the wine to lose some of its weight but it becomes far more concentrated and has a more intense fruit profile. Villanelle is working for something similarly intense and concentrated.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 8: Whole Cluster

“What is it about Eve that makes you do these stupid things,” he asks pointedly.

Villanelle gives him a defensive look as she continues to use her pointer finger to pull and release the door handle.

“I’m not doing anything stupid! This has nothing to do with Eve. You and I are both alone for Christmas this year and I thought we could use a holiday.” 

“Uh huh. That is a lie.” Konstantin narrows his brow to study her.

“I am doing something nice for you. It’s Christmas. Tis the season, Konstantin,” she says with a bright, artificial smile.

“Give me a gift next time.”

“We will have so much more fun this way.”

“This better be worth it. I will now have very high expectations for your stories on Carolyn and Eve after this shit. If you mess it up – you’re fired.”

“Please, you could never fire me. Let me do my job and we both know the interviews will be spectacular,” Villanelle says confidently.

“Don’t do anything foolish while we’re here, okay?”

Konstantin points his finger at Villanelle then turns the rental car onto the dirt road that leads to Domaine Martens.

“You are so annoying today,” she says as she looks out the window at the fading light of the day.

After a few metres, they pass through an old wrought iron gate. Even as the darkness of the evening sets in, she sees the twisted, weathered, dormant vines lining both sides of the road. Then the old stone house and its matching guesthouse come into view.

She can hear her heart thumping loudly in her chest the closer the car moves toward the house.

Konstantin is right about everything, though she will never admit it. Villanelle planned this trip to Champagne for Christmas because she knows Eve is also here.

Two days ago, Villanelle called The Bridge in an effort to set up a time for her interview with Eve. She could have done it via email, of course, but that is far less personal and Villanelle hoped that she would have the chance to speak with Eve.

Elena had been the one to answer the phone and informed Villanelle that Eve had taken a weeklong holiday in France and that she’d be spending Christmas with Carolyn. Before she even hung up with Elena, Villanelle fired off an email to set the arrangements for her and Konstantin to stay at Domaine Martens as well.

She pitched the idea to Carolyn, Konstantin’s _“old friend,”_ as her Christmas gift for her boss since he was so disappointed Irina would be with her mother in Moscow this year. She also suggested that it would be the perfect time for the long overdue article on Carolyn’s career achievements in the next issue of The Twelve.

What Villanelle said was partially true, Irina wasn’t in London for Christmas and she would happily write a fluff piece about Carolyn.

Ultimately, it was all mere pretense to finally see Eve again.

From the way they had left things at the airport, Villanelle is sure she is starting to grow on Eve. The brunette remained an utter mystery, though they had walked away from one another under amiable terms and Eve had agreed to sit for an interview with The Twelve.

Things have started to turn around and Villanelle can work with this new dynamic. She simply couldn’t wait for another encounter. Villanelle had to continue to try to make Eve warm to her.

_There’s a plan._

There is no rationale for the plan, however. Villanelle does not have the slightest grasp on the _why_ of all of this. She doesn’t know why Eve is the person she is willing traveling across countries to see. There will be time to figure out the why on this trip.

All Villanelle needs to know for now is that she desperately wants to see Eve.

Konstantin parks their car in front of the beautiful, refurbished stone manor with its weathered terracotta roof and large, white lacquered windows that pop against their rust coloured framing. He gets out and takes his bag from the trunk.

As Villanelle exits the car, she does a quick spin to take in her surroundings then joins Konstantin in front of the ornate, antique double doors.

“Where is my bag,” she pouts.

“In the car. Do I look like a bellhop to you?”

“Ugh. You could show a little appreciation for this nice Christmas gift I have given you and bring my bag for me,” Villanelle says in a huff.

“This is not a gift for me. I was not born the other day.”

Konstantin knocks on the door and Villanelle retrieves her bag. When she returns to stand next to him, one of the doors swings inward and they’re greeted by Carolyn Martens.

“Ah, Konstantin, Villanelle. Welcome,” she says coolly.

“Thank you for having us on such late notice,” Villanelle replies as they walk into the massive entryway with its barrel vaulted ceiling and antique rug.

“Yes,” Konstantin adds, “thank you for humouring whatever Villanelle is up to with this trip.”

Carolyn leads them through the house to a set of wooden stairs with decorative spindles and a unique, rounded newel post.

“I suspect this will all make for a rather lively Christmas dinner. No doubt it will only precipitate Eve’s constant angst… Nevertheless, she could benefit from the reminder of her potential.”

“I completely agree,” Villanelle says as her mind wanders to Eve and how she will approach their impending reunion.

“I suppose you both want to drop your bags. The guesthouse is across the way. I’m sure that Eve has already claimed one of the rooms, so you’ll have to sort out the arrangement amongst yourselves.”

Carolyn motions to the smaller building on the opposite side of a garden and patio. She drops the heavy metal skeleton key in Villanelle’s hand.

“Thank you.”

“Konstantin, I will show you to your room.”

Carolyn directs him up the stairs as Villanelle reaches the set of French doors that lead outside.

“Oh, Villanelle,” Carolyn calls.

“Yes?”

“I will be ready to begin our interview tomorrow morning. 7 sharp.”

“Of course. Thank you, Carolyn,” Villanelle replies with forced politeness. 

She walks slowly across the garden to the guesthouse door and gives herself a beat to calm her nerves. The thumping of her heart grows so loud she is sure it sounds like the beating of a bass drum the closer Villanelle gets to Eve’s orbit. 

She takes a deep, steadying breath and turns the knob. This is not a feeling she is used to – she does not get nervous.

As Villanelle steps through the door, Eve practically falls out of her chair.

“Hey, roomie,” Villanelle says in a tone that sounds slightly too high pitched and eager in her own ears. She hopes Eve does not pick up on it.

“What? Nope. No – this is not happening. You are not here right now,” Eve says frantically as she puts her head in her hands.

“It is happening, Eve. Merry Christmas.”

Villanelle moves into the living room.

“Oh my god. You really _are_ following me.” Eve gathers herself and stands up.

“Wow,” Villanelle says as she looks over Eve’s form and waves her hand up and down in Eve’s direction. “What do you call that outfit? You look like a very cute but also a little sad, like you spend too much time with too many cats.”

Villanelle watches a frozen Eve look at her reflection in the gilded mirror over the hearth. She’s wearing a ratty grey zip sweatshirt, olive green tee, probably from Uniqlo, and navy joggers with a floral pattern. Her glasses are pushed up on her head and her hair is confined in a messy bun.

_It is cute._

“Shut up!”

Villanelle’s heart flutters when an adorable shade of pink washes over Eve’s cheeks.

“You know, you do not accept compliments very well.”

She tosses her orange Sandqvist backpack on the oak floor and plops down onto the brown leather sofa across from the chair Eve previously occupied.

Eve exaggeratedly blinks several times as if she’s only imagining Villanelle is sitting in front of her.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, “which part of that was a compliment?”

“I said you were very cute, Eve.”

“Uh huh. You also said I look like I’m a cat lady.”

“But in very cute way,” Villanelle says with a wink.

“So… are you going to tell me what you’re doing here and why you’re following me?” Eve sits on the opposite end of the sofa and fidgets with her earring to avoid Villanelle’s gaze.

Villanelle touches her pointer finger to her chin and tilts her head.

“No. I think you should guess instead.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me,” Eve says as she folds her arms across her chest.

“Why are you always so combative with me? I thought we were past this.”

Villanelle stretches one arm across the armrest, the other across the back of the sofa, all in an effort to appear unfazed by Eve. Internally, her mind races as she wonders whether she has again miscalculated how to handle these interactions or whether she was mistaken by Eve’s change in demeanor after their flight.

Eve turns and looks earnestly at Villanelle when their eyes lock.

“So did I. I’m not sure why – you seem to bring this out of me. It always feels like you’re up to something.”

_Well, she is not wrong._

Villanelle is up to something, she did orchestrate the elaborate scheme to get to Champagne. She needs to understand Eve, maybe it will explain whatever it is that fuels her fascination for the woman and her amazing hair. 

No one has ever had this effect on Villanelle.

_“I am not up to anything,”_ Villanelle uses with an American accent to match Eve’s then slips back into her own as she continues, “you would know if I were.”

Eve quietly chuckles, shakes her head and lets her shoulders relax. Villanelle grins, hoping to have lightened the mood. Then just as quickly as she exhales, she sees Eve straighten herself again to press on.

“Why do I somehow doubt that,” Eve asks with a quizzical look.

“I am here to finally meet with Carolyn. I have tried to do so for years and we are both free now.”

“Over Christmas?”

“Yes, I have a very busy schedule in 2020. I am an in-demand woman. And I brought Konstantin with me to make it a real holiday,” Villanelle says with a smile.

She sits silently for a few moments and waits for Eve to say something else. When the brunette doesn’t, Villanelle poses the question that she’s wanted to ask for weeks.

“Did you like it,” she asks with a glint of anticipation in her eye.

Eve looks Villanelle over as her face twists to show that she is confused.

“What?”

“The Rayas. Did you like it?"

Eve hadn’t mentioned the wine at all during the entirety of the flight from New York to London. Villanelle tried not to let it get to her at the time, but the way Eve ignored it, acted as if it never existed, it frustrated her to no end.

It made her already short patience wear even thinner in those days after the flight. Villanelle isn’t used to her advances being ignored. She usually doesn’t have to even bother advancing.

It made her ache for any sliver of gratitude.

“Yes… it was very good,” Eve answers plainly.

Villanelle knows she is holding back.

In all of her frustrated curiosity, she checked the CellarTracker.com page for the ’78 Rayas for three straight days after they parted, in the hopes that Eve would leave a review on the bottle. After she refreshed the site for at least the hundredth time, a user with the name Tallulah Shark posted a tasting note and 98 point score.

Tallulah wrote that the bottle was, _“heartbreakingly beautiful,”_ and that the aromas were, _“haunting and memorable.”_ While it was certainly a bit dark, the sentiment was there. The wine had made Eve feel something profound and Villanelle had reveled in that for days.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I hope that it was memorable,” Villanelle says with a smirk.

So, this is something that Villanelle now knows about Eve. The beautiful woman keeps her feelings close, doesn’t want to give too much away. Villanelle can play this game, it will fit into the plan.

Eve tilts her head and asks, “Why did you do that for me?”

“Well, you still seemed to be holding a grudge from my review. And then there was that very shitty man who asked you a very shitty question. So I thought I would do something nice. I would like us to be friends, Eve.” 

Villanelle tries her best to appear nonchalant while she hangs on for Eve’s response and her heart catches in her throat. She does want to be friends with Eve. This is part of the plan. 

There’s more she wants to be with Eve as well, if the plan works as it should. 

“That’s just… something nice you do for people? Buy extremely rare, impossible to find bottles of wine for them?”

Eve searches Villanelle’s face, probing for some sort of tell. Villanelle welcomes the increased intensity in the dark brown eyes that stare at her.

“Mmm Hmm. For my friends.” Villanelle pops her shoulder as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and that she hadn’t spent two hours and $150 in cab fare and traveled up and down the island of Manhattan in search of something worthy of Eve. 

When she was about to give up her search, she pulled a few strings and found a collector, Anton, who agreed to trade Villanelle his Rayas in exchange for a bottle from her personal collection. She had no hesitation in parting with the 1985 Dom Perignon Oenotheque and shipped it to Anton as soon as she got back to London.

The price will be well worth it if her plan works.

“And that’s all?”

“Yes, Eve. That is all.”

Eve’s eyes remain on her, but some of the rigidity has left. 

“Friends, huh,” she finally says.

“Friends.” Villanelle gives her a sincere, kind smile.

“Well, _friend,”_ Eve says, “it’s getting late.”

The brunette gets up and walks to her room. Villanelle turns over her shoulder to watch her go. It’s a nice view.

“Good night, Eve.”

“Good night.”

Villanelle sighs and lays down on the sofa and stares up at the wooden beams that adorn the ceiling. She feels like she finally cleared a hurdle that previously made her stumble and kept her off balance. Villanelle lets the warmth build in her chest and radiate through her entire body.

_Step one, complete._

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle walks into the guesthouse after a long morning spent listening to Carolyn go on and on about her career and her wines. Typically, it is no problem for Villanelle to get through her interviews, even when the subjects are exceedingly boring. 

Carolyn Martens is a different beast entirely.

As impressive as she is on paper, Carolyn has a gift for speaking in tongues rather than coherent thoughts. Villanelle had a difficult time following each of the tangents, off the cuff thoughts and meaningless musings Carolyn had thrown out as they walked through her cellars and later, when they went to her sitting room for tea. 

She thinks she managed to collect enough information in her notebook to write a thoughtful story, thankfully, because Villanelle has no plans to subject herself to another torturous session with that woman.

Villanelle makes her way to her room and takes a seat at the foot of her bed as she aimlessly tosses her Phillip Lim pink felt coat across the room toward the wingback chair that sits in the corner. She looks out to see the faint raindrops falling to the ground outside her window. It is unusually warm for late December, and where there should be snow, a light rain coats the soil. 

While Villanelle looks out to one of Carolyn’s bare blocs of vines, she sees the top of Eve’s head, covered by the hood of an ugly green parka, passing below her window. The glimpse of a few wild curls poking out from her hood immediately lifts her indifferent disposition. She grabs her coat and heads out the door to chase after Eve.

_Again with the chasing._

Chasing is not part of the plan.

“Eve,” she calls.

The brunette stops in her tracks and waits for Villanelle.

“Hi,” Villanelle says.

“Hi,” Eve responds as she pushes her hood off her head.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. How was your morning with Carolyn?”

Villanelle had gotten herself up unnecessarily early to prepare for her time with Carolyn, and in the hopes that she would catch Eve. She paced around the kitchen for nearly half an hour, then made coffee with the French press, sat at the island and watched Eve’s door for an additional half hour. All the while, she didn’t bother to read through any of the background research materials Konstantin had prepared for her interview. 

The door and the woman on the other side of it kept her preoccupied. Villanelle was fairly certain Eve was awake the entire time, she could hear the slight creaking of the old oak floors every now and again, and still Eve had never appeared. She doesn’t quite understand why the other woman stayed in her room. Villanelle had been keen to see Eve again, talk to her some more, even for a few minutes.

In an effort to do something friendly, Villanelle made sure that she brewed more coffee for her before she left to meet Carolyn exactly at 7. It was not part of the plan, but she couldn’t resist.

Villanelle shrugs.

“It was fine.” She looks around briefly and says, “She is so _boring.”_

“Yeah. Carolyn can be a challenge.”

“How did you know I was with her?” 

“Seemed pretty obvious,” Eve answers as she starts to walk again. “You weren’t around for breakfast.” After a few steps, she continues, “and Konstantin told me that Carolyn took you down to the cellars.”

“Have you been asking about me, Eve,” Villanelle asks with a twinge of excitement in her voice. She walks in step with her, close enough to occupy the same space and far enough away that the brunette does not notice the proximity.

“No.”

“If you say so,” Villanelle says through a wide grin.

Eve rolls her eyes.

“Konstantin and I were making conversation.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that you and Konstantin were friends.”

“We’re definitely _not_ friends. I’ve met him twice and that’s more than enough to know he’s always scheming.”

“Yes,” Villanelle laughs, “Konstantin is always scheming. He told me you invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. How did he manage to make the guest list?”

“I didn’t. It was more like he invited himself.”

“That sounds like Konstantin. He doesn’t have any manners… sometimes I go home to find that he let himself into my flat.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yes, I should never have given him a key,” Villanelle says as she puts her hands into her coat pockets. “Did you have fun at your party?”

Villanelle had been incredibly jealous of Konstantin when he told her about Eve’s Thanksgiving dinner. She berated him for days for not telling her he was going. It didn’t matter that she was in Spain at the time, she would have found a way to get home and make an appearance if she’d known.

“It was fun when Konstantin wasn’t going on and on about you or trying to get me to crack and give an interview to The Twelve,” Eve says as she looks over and catches Villanelle staring.

“He better have said nice things about me or I’ll have to kill him.”

“Konstantin certainly had _a lot_ to say.”

“Such as?” Villanelle needs to know exactly what he said to Eve. This may impact her plan.

Eve clears her throat.

“He told me about your welcome gift when you joined The Twelve – my ’04 Brut Zero.”

Villanelle stares at the soggy ground. She was not expecting Konstantin to share that intimate piece of information. 

This changes things.

_“Oh.”_

She’s not sure what she should say or how Eve will react, but Villanelle is suddenly aware that this could be a big moment. It may not be a life-altering one, yet it feels as though there is a heavy weight hanging around what comes next.

_Screw the plan._

She is not very good with plans anyhow. She prefers to improvise.

Villanelle breathes in the crisp, cool scent of the fresh rainfall. She touches her hand to the arm of Eve’s thick green parka. They both stop and Villanelle looks into the dark brown eyes that stare back at her.

“I told you when we first met. Your wine is very special. It’s very special to me, Eve.”

“I know,” Eve says. “When I got here, I checked Carolyn’s old sales ledgers for the Red Ribbon. Konstantin bought a case. I kept two for myself and we sold two more to a shop in Paris. We sold the rest out of the cellar door here at the Domaine.”

Six cases, Villanelle thinks. She learned years ago that only six cases of Eve’s Champagne were ever made.

“But,” Eve begins again, “we didn’t sell all of that last case from the cellar. There was one bottle that was shipped to a dormitory at King’s College London. It was sent to someone named Oksana Astankova.” 

Villanelle shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to hide her uneasiness at the sound of her real name on Eve’s lips. She hates her name, has run from it and her past for years. But the way Eve says it – it feels slightly softer, blunted.

Though dulled, the reminder is still painful and instinctively, Villanelle starts to put up a wall. 

“She must have good taste.”

Eve continues, undeterred by Villanelle’s playful exterior.

“I’m guessing there aren’t too many women who attended KCL with the same last name as you?”

“What are you suggesting,” Villanelle asks. 

“I just… I want to know if it’s true – what Konstantin told me,” Eve says directly. She will not allow Villanelle to retreat. Eve’s eyes burn through everything, all of the façade and bravado, right to her soul.

“It is true. Your wine has meant a great deal to me over the years and helped me find my way. I knew when I tasted it, there was something about your wine that was so very different. The Red Ribbon,” Villanelle says and then as she exhales, “it made me feel things, Eve.”

They linger in silence as their eyes remain connected and small raindrops begin to fall again.

Villanelle can’t decide whether she is grateful or disappointed that she completely abandoned her plan as she feels the rain break through the tension swirling around them.

Instead of returning to the guesthouse, they turn and start to walk between a row of vines with thick, weather-warped trunks, fixed cordons for limbs and new, wild canes shooting out in all directions.

Despite her urge to run away from the tension, the draw for more wins out.

Villanelle studies Eve closely – the way her eyes dart from vine to vine analysing their health, how she looks up at the sky as the fleeting raindrops fall. She sees the expression on the brunette’s face as the most genuine smile reflexively forms from the corner of her lips.

It confirms what Villanelle hoped and suspected to be true, Eve’s passion for Champagne never waivered.

There is still something in her that feels connected to this place. Eve appreciates the beauty in this land that began to form eons ago, when ancient oceans receded and left the signature chalky subsoils behind.

She appreciates the slow, painstaking process that made Champagne and requires winemakers to exercise a similarly slow, painstaking process to allow the grapes to evolve and mature into a wine that is a pure expression of pleasure and celebration.

Eve feels the same things about this place that Villanelle feels.

“Do you ever regret leaving,” Villanelle asks thoughtfully.

Eve turns to face her and takes a long, cautious breath.

“Of course I do. There were so many times that I wished I could go back and change things… but that’s in the past now and I have people who count on me.”

“Would you come back if you could?”

“I made my choice years ago. I have friends, and a house, and my own winery. It may not be a vineyard in the Montagne de Reims,” Eve says as she gestures around to the vineyards that surround them, “and that’s alright.”

Villanelle gives her a soft smile as they round into another row of vines and start back toward the guesthouse as the rain picks up slightly.

“I do have a plan to change everything. More than what I’ve told you before,” Eve admits. “Do you want to hear it?”

Villanelle perks up and can’t contain her excitement.

“Yes!”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve and Villanelle spend the waning minutes of the morning and the better part of the afternoon sitting in the living room, sipping tea and discussing Eve’s plan of attack. Villanelle suggests high-end wine shops in London that Eve hadn’t considered, offers to make introductions on her behalf, rattles off a list of wine bars and owners who owe her favors. 

When Eve finishes her poetic ruminations on next year’s blendings and how she will approach the maturation process, she heads to her room to change for Christmas Eve dinner with Carolyn and Konstantin. 

Villanelle goes to her room as well, but before she puts on a fresh outfit, she sends a flurry of emails to her contacts in the business. She praises Eve and hints at what’s to come from The Bridge, urging each of them to make a call or set a meeting with Eve and her staff.

Villanelle changes into a green and blue striped wool blazer from Loewe, green satin pants and Proenza Schouler oxfords. She steps back out into the living room of the guesthouse and waits for Eve.

After a few minutes, she emerges in a black turtleneck sweater and grey tweed trousers.

“You look nice,” Villanelle offers.

“Thanks.”

Eve does look very nice and wears a confining turtleneck better than anyone should, but Villanelle can’t help but think about how amazing she would look in something formfitting, designer, made to accentuate her impressive body.

Friends do things like that, they buy beautiful clothes for one another. If they don’t, Villanelle decides she will convince Eve that it’s what she does for her friends. 

Eve must notice the way Villanelle is looking her over. She catches the fading flash of a smile. They walk toward the door and Villanelle takes a few extra steps to get ahead, opening the door for Eve like a perfect, friendly gentlewoman.

“After you,” she says with one hand on the doorknob, the other gesturing Eve forward.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle and Eve sit on the guesthouse sofa, a little closer than they were yesterday, Villanelle noticies. They are finishing their nightcap of Macallan single malt Scotch. 

Following an awkward dinner where they both sat in wordless horror while Carolyn and Konstantin drunkenly drifted down memory lane, Villanelle decided to swipe the whisky from Carolyn’s bar cabinet on their way back. It was the least she could do after Konstantin told the story about skinny-dipping in some Russian pond or a lake in the ‘80s. Villanelle did her best to ignore the story.

She quickly checks her phone as she walks over and deposits their empty tumbler glasses in the sink. When Villanelle realises the time, 00:23, she does a series of small fist pumps behind the counter so Eve does not catch the excitement.

“Merry Christmas, Eve!”

Eve turns her head over her shoulder, laughing.

“Merry Christmas, Villanelle.”

“Have dinner with me,” Villanelle offers suddenly, filled up with Scotch and warm thoughts of Christmas.

As soon as she appreciates what she has done, Villanelle begins to panic, fearing Eve will say no and this entire trip will be for nothing.

“What?”

“Have dinner with me tomorrow. For Christmas,” she says by way of explanation, “so we do not have to sit through another meal with Carolyn and Konstantin.”

“Why,” Eve asks.

Villanelle says the only thing she can manage to come up with in time to further justify her request.

“Because we are friends… and I just want to have dinner with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your continued interest and kind words. You've been so incredible with the way you have read this quirky little story.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Let me know what you think about where this is headed.
> 
> I'm on twitter and tumblr if you want to say hi.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has some serious gay panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! The moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived… the plot is here!
> 
> This is the start of Act 2, so here we go.
> 
> Eve's POV wine for this chapter is a Rioja. I have one specific Rioja in mind, López de Heredia Viña Tondonia. These are old school wines, Tempranillo-based, that age for decades in old barrels in a seemingly never-ending cellar. They are very complex with both herbs and leather and smoke. There's also great red and black fruit presence in these wines. Eve is confronting a number of complex issues right now and is going to need time to work through them all, much like the Tondonia wines need time to age.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 9: Élevage

Eve frantically paces in her room for several minutes, walking back and forth across the small space as the oak floors squeak under her weight. She runs her hand through her hair in an effort to steady herself.

She sits on the bed and begins to bounce her leg nervously as she tries to comprehend what has just transpired.

It’s been a very, very long time since Eve’s dated but she is fairly certain, _‘I want to have dinner with you’_ means it’s a date. She thinks Villanelle’s been flirting with her the last few days.

Unless Eve completely misread everything.

_Does Villanelle think it’s a date?_

Eve doesn’t have an answer to this, she should have thought it through. Almost as quickly as Villanelle had asked about dinner, Eve found herself saying yes. There was no processing time or moment to consider the implications, she’d said yes without hesitation.

She doesn’t know why she agreed.

Eve picks up her phone and calls Elena, ignoring the late hour and the fact that it’s now Christmas Day.

“Hello,” Elena answers reluctantly.

“Elena, hi. I’m glad you’re awake. I need to talk to you,” Eve half-whispers to avoid being overheard.

“Uhm – is everything alright?”

“No, it’s not. I’m freaking out.”

“Yeah, I can tell. What happened,” Elena asks, a bit of concern in her voice.

“I think I just agreed to go on a date with Villanelle,” Eve says hectically.

The line goes silent. Eve hears her breathing becoming more and more frenetic as she waits for Elena to say something.

_“AAAAHHHH!_ I bloody knew it,” Elena screams as Eve holds the phone out away from her ear to prevent an eardrum from bursting.

“Oh my god! Shut up,” Eve yells back.

“Tell me everything,” blares through the receiver.

“I -”

“Eve,” Villanelle says as she knocks on the door to Eve’s room. “Is everything okay? I thought I heard someone yelling.”

Her heart catches in her throat. It’s beating so fast she can’t think clearly.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, Villanelle. Go back to bed,” Eve shouts back.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. Night.”

“Okay. Good night, Eve.”

She waits a few seconds and listens as the door to Villanelle’s room opens then closes.

When Eve puts the phone back to her ear, she hears Elena laughing hysterically.

“Stop it. This isn’t funny,” Eve hisses.

Through her laughter, Elena says, “Wait – who was that? _Oh my god!_ Is that her? Is she there?”

Eve rolls her eyes.

“Yeah. That was Villanelle.”

“She’s there with you,” Elena asks gleefully.

“Bugger off, Elena. You’re not helping.”

“Oh,” Elena says as something clicks, “that makes perfect sense.”

“What makes sense? None of this makes any sense.”

“She called the other day and wanted to speak with you. I told her you’d gone to Carolyn’s on holiday.”

“You did what? Why?”

Elena begins to laugh again, “I’m sorry, mate. This is brilliant. Bill and I knew something like this would happen eventually.”

“Ugh, I hate you both so much.”

“Love you too, Eve.”

Eve grumbles.

“I’ve got a headache now,” she says while she rubs her left temple and closes her eyes.

“Babe,” Elena says evenly, “I don’t have any sympathy for you. If a gorgeous woman is interested in you and you are most definitely interested in her. Don’t deny it.”

Eve opens her eyes and looks over her shoulder to the nightstand to see the time reflected back to her, 01:12.

She groans.

“Dammit. You are no help whatsoever. I’m gonna go.”

“Good night and Merry Christmas, Eve! Call me after and stop freaking out! Have a little fun.”

“Yeah. Okay. Merry fucking Christmas.”

Eve ends the call and lets her shoulders fall back on the bed in a heap. She rolls over and crawls up the bed to lay her head down on a pillow. It’s not going to be a pleasant night’s sleep, if sleep comes at all.

Her thoughts are racing with so many different directions, it’s like they were all sent down the harvest sorting table and something is slowly but surely picking out of the animosity and resentment she used to hold and tossing it in a bin.

Only the good bits, the things she likes about Villanelle, seem to be left.

Villanelle had said and done things that continued to throw Eve into an utter spiral. The more she learns, the less Eve understands her own feelings toward the woman.

When Eve combed through Carolyn’s old ledger journals in search of the sales receipts for her Red Ribbon Champagne, she nearly had a heart attack when she saw Carolyn had written Konstantin’s name, case order and a date of 10/07/2014 with her perfect handwriting.

What made it infinitely worse was reading another name in the journal.

The writing had been slightly smudged from years of moisture and humidity, but Eve could see clearly enough that on 27/02/2011, Oksana Astankova had ordered a bottle of her wine. It was the only sale of an individual bottle of Red Ribbon outside of Domaine Martens. For nearly two full days, Eve tried to convince herself that there had to be loads of Russian women living in London who had the same last name as Villanelle.

When she read the blonde’s bio on The Twelve’s website, Eve knew. She knew Oksana and Villanelle had to be the same person, and that Villanelle saw something in her wines all along.

Eve had spent the better part of the next day trying to wrap her head around it all, trying to decide if she could ever maintain a sliver of that old hostility toward someone who had appreciated her wine the way Villanelle did.

Then she wandered into the guesthouse and Eve went from spiraling down to a headfirst plunge into the abyss.

Their time in the vineyard together only served to make Eve feel less in control of herself and her feelings. To hear someone say that they believed in her, someone other than her friends, it was reassuring.

Eve feels herself starting to smile as she pictures Villanelle’s face and that same look in her hazel eyes. Almost instantly, she catches it and groans into her pillow.

_Shit._

She is interested in Villanelle.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun bursts through the curtains and shines onto Eve’s face, forcing her awake. She pulls the covers over her head in an effort to squeeze out a few more precious minutes of sleep.

It’s useless. The moment she returns to the plane of consciousness, Eve’s brain begins to wander to Villanelle, as it always seems to do lately. Then she remembers she agreed to have dinner on Christmas, _a date,_ with the ridiculously attractive woman across the hall.

It snaps any lingering grogginess from her body and Eve’s heart rate immediately spikes as she rolls out of bed, tiptoes to the door and listens for any sign of that Villanelle is awake. She’s already starting to panic again about their dinner plans.

Eve hasn’t had enough time to prepare herself to see Villanelle today or to fully grasp what it all means.

She much prefers another quiet morning to herself to agonize over these details and their date.

Satisfied that the house is sufficiently silent, Eve slowly opens her door and walks the few steps down the hallway toward the kitchen and living room and says a silent prayer that Villanelle is either still sleeping or once again left the house early.

As she enters the room, she sees the back of Villanelle’s head, honey blonde hair pulled up into a bun.

She feels the panic tightening her chest.

Eve quickly runs her fingers through her hair to try and fluff out her curls, no doubt unruly from the night’s sleep. Suddenly, she remembers she didn’t bother to check her appearance in the mirror before exiting her room, a decision she now regrets.

“Morning. Did you sleep well,” Villanelle asks over her shoulder.

“Fine. You?”

Eve walks into the kitchen and gets a full view when Villanelle turns to face her.

As always, she looks amazing, but what she’s wearing is _a lot_ to take in and Eve can’t manage to keep eyes from wandering straight to Villanelle’s chest. She’s got on a silk pyjama set with floral patterns, and the kimono top cinches around her waist, creating a deep, exposed V of perfect skin and cleavage.

She tries to will her eyes to look anywhere else.

She can’t.

After ogling for what is undoubtedly far too long, Eve finally forces her eyes to look back up to Villanelle’s face. She notices the smallest smirk form in the right corner of the other woman’s mouth. Eve knows she’s been caught and is already mentally kicking herself for the lapse of composure.

Thankfully, Villanelle moves along as if it’s nothing.

“Yes, I slept very well,” she says with a bright smile.

It’s only then that Eve catches the white lights twinkling in her peripheral vision. She turns to see lights strung across the hearth and framing the window of the living room.

“Did you do this,” Eve asks as she gestures to the lights.

“I did. It’s not Christmas without lights,” Villanelle says happily. “Unfortunately, I did not have time to get a tree.”

Like so many other things about the woman standing in front of her, Eve finds this almost painfully endearing.

“Where did you manage to find lights on Christmas morning?”

“There were extras laying around in the main house. Carolyn isn’t using the lights in those rooms, so I thought we should.”

Eve laughs loudly, though she knows she shouldn’t encourage Villanelle’s second instance of thievery in as many days. She can’t help herself, Eve likes that Villanelle is a bit daring. No one else would have the nerve to run the risk of crossing Carolyn. 

This too is painfully endearing.

“You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you, Eve,” she says with a smile. “You know – that is the first compliment you’ve ever given me.”

She didn’t intend it that way, but she doesn’t have the heart to argue when Villanelle looks at her that way.

“I suppose it is,” Eve says. “Merry Christmas, Villanelle.”

“Merry Christmas, Eve. Now that you’ve finally started, make sure to keep it up.” Villanelle gives her a wink. “Would you like some coffee?”

“God, yes,” Eve blurts out.

Villanelle chuckles and takes a porcelain mug from the cupboard and hands it to Eve. As she does, her fingertips lightly graze Eve’s and the touch creates a tiny current of electricity that travels up her arm.

It’s becoming a common feeling when the other woman’s skin touches her own.

Then Villanelle turns and picks up the French press.

“Here, I just made this,” she says as she pours the fresh coffee into Eve’s mug. 

The enticing aroma is enough to give Eve a jolt of energy. She instantly brings the steaming liquid to her lips.

“Mmm. You make really good coffee,” Eve says after her first, blissful sip.

“Wow. Two compliments. It must also be my birthday,” Villanelle jokes.

Eve rolls her eyes and walks over to sit the small dining table. 

“What time would you like to have dinner tonight,” Villanelle asks as sits in the seat across from Eve.

She isn’t mentally prepared for this. Eve needs more coffee first. She takes a few more sips and buys time.

“It doesn’t matter to me. This is your plan, you decide,” she into her mug.

“Hmm. Alright. Will 8 work for you?”

“Sure,” Eve answers.

“Great,” Villanelle says. In a flash, she pushes up from her chair, heads down the hall to her room and closes the door.

It allows Eve to sit alone in silence. She watches the dancing lights as she drinks the rest of her coffee. Eve appreciates the rare feeling that she is momentarily content.

She thinks it may not be the worst thing that Villanelle is the cause of it.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve sits in Carolyn’s dining room, positioned squarely across from Konstantin. They sit alone at the table, the same as they did yesterday – Carolyn is over at a neighbour’s for breakfast and Villanelle is out doing who knows what.

_“I have things to take care of,”_ she’d said ominously as she ran out the door in a hurry.

This is without question the strangest Christmas of all time.

Eve picks a biscuit from the center of the table and finally breaks the irritating stillness.

“So,” she starts with a mouthful of biscuit, “what do I need to know?”

“You will have to be more specific with your question, Eve. There are many things you need to know and I have no idea what it is you do not yet know.”

Eve shakes her head awkwardly at the riddle.

“About Villanelle. What do I need to know about her?”

“Hmm,” he says as he thumbs through the biscuits, “what do you want to know?”

_Where to begin?_

“I don’t know, Konstantin. You tell me. What is she _really_ like?” Eve narrows her gaze to pick up any hints in his body language.

“I have already told you.” Konstantin picks up a chocolate biscuit and takes a big bite. “She is an annoying little shit.” Crumbs fall onto his salt and pepper beards as he speaks.

“Don’t give me the bullshit answer, tell me the truth.” Eve leans forward to emphasize her point.

“What is this about? Why are _you_ so interested in Villanelle?”

Eve has no answer for either of those questions. She very much wishes she did. She is looking for those answers.

“That’s not important. I just want to know,” Eve says in a huff.

Konstantin picks up another biscuit and dunks it haphazardly into his tea.

“She is an annoying little shit, that is not a lie. I’m sure you know this already,” he says as he chews on the soaked biscuit. “We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out.” Eve makes a circular motion with her arm and gestures him to continue.

It didn’t take much effort to know that meeting with Carolyn, while convenient, wasn’t exactly some pressing journalistic assignment. After Elena told her that Villanelle knew where she would be for the holiday, Eve is both flattered and alarmed that anyone would go to such lengths to see her.

It is always that way with Villanelle.

Konstantin catches her wandering off with her thoughts for a moment. He clearly sees something there, behind Eve’s eyes.

“Now I am thinking,” he says as he runs his hands over his beard and removes the last of the crumbs. “Maybe I really should be asking questions of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Eve asks defensively.

“It seems to me that I might need to protect Villanelle from you.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Eve thumps her hands on the dining table to stress her indignation.

“Is it,” he asks as his thick fingers wrap around the handle of his teacup. “What I will tell you, Eve, is that Villanelle – she wears her feelings on her sleeve.”

“It’s _heart_ on her sleeve,” Eve corrects him. “And?”

“And you – are very different. Do not hurt her. She is like my family,” he warns. Konstantin sips his tea as watches Eve from across the table.

Eve has no answer for him. All she manages to do is scoff. She stands and walks back to the guesthouse, making sure to slam the French door closed to prove a point she never made.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She reaches down and pulls a bottle from a rung in the center the rack. Eve lightly blows the collected dust off the glass. Carolyn’s wine collection was impressive when Eve left 2011, it’s grown substantially since.

The organisation remains immaculate. Eve expects nothing less from her no-nonsense mentor. She’s in the Burgundy section, hands cradled around a 1964 Domaine Leroy Romanée-Saint-Vivant Grand Cru. Eve doesn’t have a clue what they’ll be eating tonight, or what Villanelle drinks aside from sparkling wine, but she’s confident that a wine from the empress of Burgundy will suffice.  
Eve hears footsteps behind her and immediately recognises the sound of Carolyn’s loafers clacking across the stone floor.

“Ah, Eve,” Carolyn says.

“Hi, Carolyn. Merry Christmas.”

Eve turns to face the other woman, bottle in hand.

“Yes, joy and merriment and all that.” Carolyn looks down at the bottle. “Oh dear, is that what you plan to drink this evening?”

“It is. Why,” Eve asks as she raises her brow.

“That is quite the statement wine as they say. What statement is it that you’re going for exactly?”

Carolyn had agreed to let Eve take a bottle from her private collection to drink tonight at dinner with Villanelle, Eve knows a wine like this will come at a price.

“Festive… ” Eve says unconvincingly.

She gets the back of Carolyn’s shoulder as the older woman walks over to one of the wine racks against the wall. It’s covered in years of dust and cobwebs.

“Did you know – not all spiders are capable of spinning webs,” Carolyn asks as she knocks down a web with her hand.

“Uhm… no?”

“All can spin silk, but only certain species spin webs.”

This is one of those times when Carolyn is speaking in code, some hidden message in her words that Eve can’t ever fully decipher.

She’s too stressed out about her dinner with Villanelle to think about this now.

“What are you saying, Carolyn?”

“There are people who are adept at things others aren’t. Despite yourself, Eve, you are an excellent winemaker.”

“Thanks. I think,” Eve says.

“I’ve had an offer to purchase the domaine. It’s substantial.”

Eve isn’t sure what to say, she feels a pang of loss at the idea that someone else would take this land that she loves so dearly.

Carolyn notices the silence, turns to face Eve and continues, “I’m afraid you’ll be rather disappointed.”

She feels something heavy in the pit of her stomach. For once, Eve knows what Carolyn’s about to say and she wishes she didn’t.

“The Polastri Group caught wind that I’ve been exploring contingency options. Geraldine has neither the tenacity nor the discipline to succeed me. She’s too busy wandering the continent on her useless spiritual retreats and frankly, I don’t have the patience to deal with training her.”

Eve waits for Carolyn to get to the point but she’s growing more anxious by the syllable. 

“While I’m not ready to call it a day, their package would include an adequate transition period before I would relinquish full control of the operations. I -”

Carolyn is cut off before she can continue.

_“You can’t sell!_ Not to them. Not to Niko. They’ll destroy everything you’ve built,” Eve shouts.

“If you’d let me finish,” Carolyn scolds as she wipes her hands together then puts them in her pockets.

“Sorry.”

“Right, as I was saying. The Polastri Group has made an initial offer that’s nothing to sneeze at. However, your own dealings with the company leave me rather skeptical that I’ll be turning things over to the proper hands.”

“I completely agree. You absolutely should not sell to Niko.”

Carolyn narrows her gaze and let’s Eve know that she doesn’t appreciate the latest interruption.

“Would you like to buy my winery, Eve?”

Eve’s mind goes blank.

“What?”

“It wouldn’t be immediate, of course. I suspect you’ll require a few years to secure the appropriate finances. With an agreed upon down payment and detailed payment schedule, I’m sure we could work out an arrangement that benefits us both.”

“Carolyn, I – I don’t know what to say,” Eve says as she shakes her head quickly to make sure she isn’t dreaming.

“A yes or a no would be sufficient,” Carolyn answers.

Eve isn’t sure she is capable of forming those words right now. She is in shock.

“Can I think about it?”

“I’m required to respond to the initial offer by January 31. You may have until the 30th.”

Carolyn goes back up the stairs, leaving Eve alone again.

Eve sets the Leroy on the small table in the cellar and walks in the familiar direction of the aging bottles. She walks by row after row of riddling racks. Each is filled with bottles, tilted at the perfect 45-degree angle to rest sur lie. The dead yeasts in the wine migrating down to the neck of the bottle, adding complexity and richness over time.

Eve wonders whether she’s had enough time on the lees? Is she ready for this huge next step after so little time truly on her own? Can she and her staff do what it takes to run an actual winery in Champagne? Can she do it if her staff didn’t follow her?

She hears the sound of her phone alarm. It’s 14:30pm and Eve has yet to shower or change for dinner with Villanelle. Luckily, her clothes are in the main house thanks to Villanelle’s strict orders that she remain out of the guesthouse until 8 to avoid ruining the surprise. Eve agreed with little protest, she secretly enjoys the lengths Villanelle seems to be going to for this dinner.

Eve heads toward the stairs and picks up the bottle of Leroy along the way. She ascends the two flights to get back to the ground and walks across the courtyard back to the house. 

She chances a quick glance toward the guesthouse through one of the archways that opens to Carolyn’s garden. In the darkness, Eve can only make out a faint light coming from the kitchen.

Excitement begins to bubble in her chest as she reaches the door to the house. It’s enough to push her talk with Carolyn to the back of her mind. 

Eve climbs the stairs, quickly walks down the hall and heads for the bathroom.

After a quick shower, she applies her makeup, a bit of eyeliner and some mascara, as she allows her hair to air dry.

She puts on her tailored black trousers, a burgundy coloured silk blouse with a cowl neck and a black wool blazer with a notched collar. Eve adds a pair of simple gold stud earrings and gives herself a look in the mirror.

Eve studies her reflection closely.

She can’t remember the last time she went to this much effort. Eve doesn’t know why she’s going to this much effort to look good when she is having dinner with someone she hated a few weeks ago. 

The answer is obvious now, whether she admits it or not. 

She runs her hands through her hair lightly and gives herself an encouraging nod. Eve opens the bathroom door, collects tonight’s wine then makes her way to the guesthouse and to Villanelle.

As she walks across the patio and through the small garden, Eve feels the doubt set in and start to creep its way upward. 

Alone in the stillness and darkness of the winter night, she questions what she’s about to do and the serious harm that could come to her business if Villanelle wants something from Eve that she isn’t willing to give. There is always the possibility that she could retaliate with another negative article. 

The doubt inches closer to the surface and Eve freezes in her tracks just before she reaches the door.

The large wooden door suddenly swings open and the light from the guesthouse permeates the night. Then Villanelle’s voice fills the previously noiseless air.

“Eve! You are right on time. Please, come in,” Villanelle says enthusiastically as she leans against the door and gestures her in.

No surprise, Villanelle looks amazing. Eve is slowly coming to terms with the idea that she likes the way the other woman dresses, no matter how over the top and lavished it may seem at times. It’s an alluring mix of sexy and badass, in perfect balance. She’s wearing a white silk top with black polka dots and gold satin trousers. The fabric along the neckline of her blouse is wrapped loosely around her throat. 

Eve’s eyes are drawn to it and yet another V that shows off a bit of Villanelle’s chest and collarbone. Eve can’t help but wonder if this was intentional after the way she stared this morning.

Without realising it, the doubt about their date recedes as Eve walks into the guesthouse.

“I brought a bottle,” she says. Eve hands the wine to Villanelle and watches her eyes bulge and smile brighten at the sight.

“This is an amazing wine. It will be perfect.”

They walk over to the small table that’s covered with a crisp white tablecloth. The plates and silverware are already laid out and a Champagne bucket sits off to the side. Eve can’t see what’s in the bucket, the bottle is covered with a napkin.

“Have a seat,” Villanelle says as she walks into the kitchen. “I’ll get the food.”

“What’s in the bucket,” Eve asks curiously.

“You’ll have to guess. I thought we’d start with a bit of a blind tasting, if you’re up for it,” Villanelle challenges.

“Sure, that’s fine. But it’s a little unfair, don’t you think,” Eve says.

“No, I don’t think so. Konstantin selected this bottle. I have no idea what it is,” Villanelle explains.

“Not that,” Eve says as she sits down, “I know you were some sort of tasting champion. Seems like you’re just trying to show off.”

While Eve was conducting her reconnaissance on Villanelle, she also learned about the blonde’s impressive career and her time as a prolific competitive wine taster. 

None of it answered her questions about the woman, though she did seem to have an admittedly impressive resume.

“Eve, how do you know all these things about me,” Villanelle asks.

There’s something mixed in her voice that hasn’t ever been there before. It’s ever so slightly lower, it sounds a little rough in Eve’s ear. She likes the way it lingers, the weight it has, like an alluring and complex wine that clings to her lips, tongue and throat long after she’s swallowed it.

Unlike a wine, the feeling makes Eve extremely nervous and she considers that she has no idea how to do this sort of thing anymore.

“Yeah – okay, fine. I looked you up. Don’t let it inflate your ego anymore,” Eve says as she rolls her eyes.

“Well if you are worried about losing to me, I will give you two chances to call the wine to my one,” Villanelle offers.

“No, I don’t need it. I can beat you on level terms.”

“You are very competitive, Eve. I like that.” Villanelle smirks. She walks over to the table holding a silver serving tray, it’s contents hidden under a lid.

Villanelle pours the mystery wine in both glasses. Eve has one eye on the bubbling liquid, the other trained on Villanelle as she runs through her tasting routine.

The look of the mousse is unmistakable. This wine is most certainly Champagne. The intensity of the yellow-gold, straw-like colour is that of Chardonnay, most likely from the Côte des Blancs. 

Eve knows all of this without smelling or tasting it. She briefly swirls her glass and as she bring it to her nose, Eve closes her eyes.

She runs through her mental checklist of aromatic characteristics that have become engrained over the years, it is second nature for her.

There is an obvious citrus presence, like a waxy lemon rind, with barely perceptible inflections of grapefruit. As expected, Eve picks up on the seductive saline that is a touchstone of Champagne, and clear notes of honey.

Her initial inclination is correct – this is absolutely a Chardonnay-based Champagne and it is absolutely a Côte des Blancs.

Villanelle breaks Eve’s silent concentration.

“What do you think?”

“I have an idea,” Eve answers confidently, “you?”

Villanelle ignores the question and asks one of her own, “Why do you do you close your eyes?”

“Oh. I forgot I still did that,” Eve says. She feels her cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment. “It ‘s how my dad taught me to taste. _‘Focus on memories.’”_

She tried to get out of the habit of tasting this way years ago, Niko always found it creepy.

“I like that.” Villanelle smiles at Eve. “I also have an idea.”

“You sound confident. Do you just want to guess now,” Eve asks.

“No. I do not want to ruin the game. Please continue.”

Eve takes a sip, and as she does, the liquid catches in her throat. It makes her think of her earlier conversation with Carolyn.

She can do this, she can do _better_ than this. She has done better than this. With the eight hectares of Domaine Martens fully under Eve’s control, there’s so much she could do.

The one gigantic wrinkle in it all is The Bridge. Eve has commitments, people who depend on her. She has plans, ways to make up for years in obscurity. The whole team has worked to make things right.

Bill came out of partial retirement to join her.

Kenny stayed on board with Eve though he had other opportunities.

Elena took a risk and quit her old job to be part of the team.

Bear – he’s Bear, and he’s loyal.

Eve can’t abandon them for the sake of her dream, no matter how tantalizing it may be.

Then, of course, there is the small matter of attempting to finance her life away to even afford to buy Carolyn out.

It’s a painful reality, one that slaps Eve hard in the face and wakes her from any sort of quiet bliss she may have sitting here with Villanelle.

Villanelle tilts her head and asks, “What is it?”

“Uhm. I’m not really in the mood for this anymore.” Eve pushes her glass to the center of the table. As she starts to push her chair back, Villanelle reaches out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued enjoyment of this story. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to read all the comments I've been getting and the enthusiastic responses thus far.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter and where you think this is headed.
> 
> If you want to say hi or talk about this fic, I'm on twitter and tumblr.
> 
> Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle keeps trying...
> 
> But she's keeping some secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the halfway point now!
> 
> Another chapter of two idiots acting like idiots. 
> 
> Someday, you may get what you came here for – today is not that day.
> 
> V’s POV wine for this chapter is Barbaresco – Nebbiolo is easily one of my favorite wines, hand’s down. It’s often described as giving off aromatics of tar and roses. If those two very potent descriptors, entirely opposite in their harshness and softness don’t represent Villanelle’s journey in this chapter, I’m not sure what does. Also, Barbaresco tends to be a bit softer than Barolo (also from Nebbiolo), so this isn’t quite as harsh as it could be.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 10: Assemblage

“Eve, wait. Please,” Villanelle asks as her fingers rest on top of Eve’s.

“I have a lot on my mind. I need to get back to the winery and I want to be alone right now,” Eve says as she pulls her hand away and stands up, ready to leave the room. “You should enjoy the food.”

Villanelle’s heart sinks like a stone. It’s never felt so heavy, weighed her down this much.

She spent all of Christmas Day working on this dinner for Eve. She knows this may very well be her one and only chance for whatever is happening between them to actually take shape. She hasn’t even lifted the lid on the meal yet and Eve is already walking away.

_This is not how it’s supposed to go._

She thinks of her pride and tries to remind herself that a self-respecting woman as wonderful as her can only be expected to take so much. There are loads of women who would be ecstatic to spend an evening with Villanelle. She should not be this worried or trying this hard for Eve.

Villanelle’s sinking heart tells her otherwise.

She thinks about how she should eat the dinner that she coerced Felix to make whether Eve stays or not. Villanelle traded a glowing restaurant review in an upcoming issue of The Twelve for him to make it on such late notice, willingly putting her impeccable reputation for her taste in fine dining on the line for this.

Felix was a former sous-chef at her favorite Michelin-starred restaurant in Champagne. He’d recently left to open his own restaurant and was the only person she contacted who actually responded to Villanelle’s desperate texts for last minute assistance with her dinner plans.

Even with her attempts to be angered or annoyed by Eve’s repeated sabotage of her efforts, all Villanelle truly knows in this moment is that her heart feels so heavy it threatens to fall out onto the floor and crash down through the bedrock of the building.

The truth finally dawns on her – Villanelle wants to be with Eve. She has done everything in her power to avoid feeling this way about anyone for so long, avoided attachment and getting hurt and being let down.

Yet when it comes to Eve, Villanelle wants all the things she has closed herself off from.

Before she can think any longer, Villanelle pushes out of her own chair and matches Eve. She leans over the table and tries her best to present a well-reasoned, thoughtful look though the weight in her chest is nearly enough to break her.

“Will you please just eat something? There is nothing you can do tonight that will change whatever you are thinking. Stay and eat. I won’t say a word, we can sit in total silence.” Villanelle leans back slightly and puts her hands up as non-threateningly as possible to alleviate the stress.

Eve sighs but she relents.

“What did you make,” she mutters.

“I did not make anything, I had a friend do it,” Villanelle says with a small, soft smile. “I’m a shit cook.”

And with that, Eve smiles again. Villanelle lets out a breath that she’s been holding since Eve started to pull away.

They quietly return to the table and she finally lifts the lid to reveal the meal.

This is hardly what Villanelle had in mind for the evening, but she will take whatever she can get and make the most of it.

“I hope you are hungry, Eve.”

Villanelle couldn’t be sure what Eve would want to eat, so when she spoke to Felix about cooking for them, all she said was, _“Don’t make me look bad.”_

Eve’s eyes regain the slightest bit of a spark when she reaches out to scoop a perfectly sliced piece of agneau à la Champenoise onto her plate.

“I did not know what you liked to eat. Is this alright?”

“Yes,” Eve says earnestly, “it looks great.” She proceeds to stab several chunks of potato and drops them alongside the lamb.

“I did make the potatoes,” Villanelle says proudly as she watches Eve cut through the perfectly cooked meat and take a large bite.

With her mouth full, Eve asks, “Didn’t you say something about eating in silence?”

“Yes. I enjoy talking to you though. No one is ever as bristly as you are.”

Eve doesn’t respond and continues to eat methodically. All the while, Villanelle’s eyes remain focused on her as searches for some sign of what Eve is thinking. She thinks she could stare at Eve forever and still not know what’s going on in her head. Anytime Villanelle has thought she knew, it always turned out to be completely wrong.

She slices through the roast lamb shoulder while theorizing about what had caused the stark change in the brunette’s demeanor.

“It’s pretty hard to mess up potatoes,” Eve says finally, “and you managed to do it.”

The smile gives Eve away. It’s painfully adorable.

“Mmm. Like I said, bristly.” Villanelle grins with her own mouth full of food.

They eat quietly for a few minutes until the sound of Villanelle’s phone fills the air.

She walks over to the table to see the name and the corresponding photo of the caller. Villanelle was expecting this call hours earlier. Under normal circumstances, if she were alone or spending Christmas at Konstantin’s, she would answer happily.

She misses him terribly, but cannot bring herself to answer now. Villanelle doesn’t share this part of her life, not with anyone. It is still to painful and raw, even after all these years.

“Who is it,” Eve asks.

“Don’t worry. I will call back later. I do not want to interrupt our meal.”

Eve looks at her suspiciously.

“Who is it? Why won’t you answer?”

Eve follows her and tries to look over Villanelle’s shoulder as she hits the ignore button. She feels the heat from the eyes at her back, trying to burn their way through her to the truth.

“It’s not important. I will call back when we’re finished.”

“Why won’t you tell me? Is that someone you’re dating?”

Villanelle turns and smirks, pleased with the sudden diversion to something more playful.

She can use this.

“What if it was,” Villanelle asks as she narrows her gaze. “Would you be jealous, Eve?”

“No. Definitely not,” Eve answers as she walks back to the table and her food. Her answer is a bit too assertive to be believable.

“I don’t really date,” she says as she sits back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest.

“Okay. What about the Cava maker?” As she asks the question Eve’s face flushes. She looks like someone who’s been caught red-handed.

“Who,” Villanelle asks in feigned ignorance. She lets her eyes fall down ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of Eve’s lips then darts them back up before she is caught.

_Eve is jealous._

_Perfect._

Villanelle so rarely feels like she has the upper hand when it comes to Eve, certainly never as much as she does right now.

“The winemaker in Cava. Maria whatever,” Eve says as she waves her hand through the air while she tries to regain her normal, flippant attitude. “Elena showed us a picture of the two of you. You seem… close.”

“Oh, _Maria._ She’s only a friend.” Villanelle gives Eve the most innocent look she can muster. She decides to leave out the part about previously fucking Maria on multiple occasions, or the time that Maria drunkenly asked Villanelle to marry her.

“What about you,” Villanelle asks pointedly.

“What about me,” Eve deflects. “I don’t know Maria.”

Villanelle laughs loudly at that.

Eve really has no idea what her quick wit does to Villanelle. She caught glimpses of it when they first met, and little flashes of it have popped up since. Whenever it happens, a bit of mirth dances in Eve’s eyes.

_It is very sexy._

“Do _you_ have a girlfriend?” She raises her brow.

Villanelle doesn’t bother discussing men. Ex-husband aside, she’s seen the way Eve’s eyes linger on her body when the woman thinks she has a free moment to gawk. 

Villanelle is over the pretenses and wants to make Eve perfectly aware of what it is she wants.

“What? No. My divorce was only finalised three months ago.”

“Why would that stop you from dating? You are a very beautiful woman,” Villanelle says with her most coquettish tone. This time, she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes slowly travel across Eve’s form.

“Thanks,” Eve says, intentionally short with her words as she sips her wine and looks off into the distance.

They quietly return to their food, Villanelle wholly satisfied with where she thinks this dinner is heading and the sense of a sudden, increased tension between them.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After several glasses of Burgundy and a second serving of lamb each, Villanelle carefully returns to whatever threatened to derail their night. Something is wrong and she wants to help. 

She feels her nerves setting in again as she works herself up to broaching the subject. Villanelle wants Eve to know that she can be here for her, even if it’s as a friend, yet she has a grave, ominous feeling that it may backfire – like so many things she tries with Eve.

“What was it that upset you earlier, Eve?” She asks with her glass to her lips, peering over the edge of its bowl.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yes, I know. I think maybe you will feel better if you do,” Villanelle says with a tiny, inviting curl on the edges of her lips.

Villanelle feels her breath hitch in her throat in anticipation. This feels like another big moment.

Eve inhales and exhales thoughtfully as she runs her right hand through her perfect curls and Villanelle watches as she tries to decide whether she’ll let her in. 

_Eve does._

“Carolyn received an offer for the domaine,” Eve says as she looks down into her own glass.

This catches Villanelle completely off-guard. She is not sure what she was expecting Eve to say, but it’s certainly not that.

“When? She didn’t tell me any of this during our interview. I had no idea she was retiring.”

“She isn’t… at leas she wasn’t planning to. It’s all very early stages. Apparently the price is too good to pass up.”

“Wow. I’m shocked. And that is what upset you,” Villanelle asks, slightly confused.

“Not entirely.”

“Then what? We are friends. You can tell me.” She reaches a hand out and rests it on top of Eve’s.

Villanelle hopes with everything in her that Eve feels she can rely on her now. 

“Carolyn wants to sell to me instead – eventually.” Eve finally looks up to face Villanelle, her eyes now resigned to something and the younger woman cannot understand why. “She gave me a month to make a decision.”

“That is amazing! Eve, you have to buy this place! It belongs in your hands.” As Villanelle shouts out, she starts to picture Eve here tending the vines, walking through the cellar. It is like a dream.

“I can’t,” Eve hits back. “There’s no way in hell I can figure out the financing in a month. And what about The Bridge or my employees?”

“Can’t is a useless, shitty word. You most definitely _can_ do this. I will help you.” Villanelle stares determinedly into Eve’s eyes.

There is no one more capable of taking the current, exceptional quality of Domaine Martens and elevating it to something ethereal. Villanelle has no doubt whatsoever that Eve belongs here.

She has to buy it.

As quickly as Villanelle was let in, she is immediately shut out. She watches Eve’s eyes go hollow and blank.

“Ugh… You’re still young and naïve and everything comes so easily to a gorgeous woman like you, Villanelle. You don’t know what it’s like to have so many people counting on you.” Eve runs a frustrated hand through her hair. “And this deal isn’t as simple as you think. There are other things involved.”

_This is unexpected._

_It… hurts._

Villanelle feels a sharp burn slide down and settle in her chest, the same sensation she feels when she drinks a young tannic wine that is full of alcohol and out of balance.

Eve doesn’t have a clue about Villanelle or her past. To call her naïve, suggest that she has not worked incredibly hard for every bit of her much-deserved success or that she does not have people in her life who depend on her, and all this after the way Villanelle had opened up to Eve, is beyond unfair. 

It borders on mean and makes Villanelle retreat into a defensive posture without a second thought. 

“I like you, Eve. But I do not like you enough to let you speak to me that way. You know nothing about me or my life, so do not much assumptions,” Villanelle says as she pushes out of her chair and stands at full height. “If you are too afraid to take that risk, that is on you and you alone.”

She had accepted Eve’s rants numerous times, this one though, she most certainly does not deserve.

The emptiness that was in the dark brown eyes that look back at her is now replaced with anger and Eve’s face contorts into a scowl.

“You’re right. I don’t know anything about you – you’re so damn secretive, always playing games. Who called you,” Eve asks in an accusing tone. “Why haven’t you ever told me anything about you?”

With nothing left to say, Villanelle takes her plate, utensils and glass and lets them clatter into the sink. She walks down the hall and slams her door closed knowing all the while that the silence and lingering unanswered questions will grate at Eve far more than shouting. 

She opens her WhatsApp thread with Bor’ka and Pyotr and sends an apologetic text in a mixture of Russian and English, wishing them both a Merry Christmas, asking if they received their gifts, and telling Bor’ka she will call him back in the morning. 

Even with the sour ending to the evening, Villanelle is looking forward to hosting them for New Year’s. She bought them each round trip tickets for their first trip to London as Christmas gifts.

Villanelle hears the sound of Eve’s overly sensible heels trudging across the wood floors. At first, the noise is slightly muffled and distant, emanating from the kitchen and living room. Then she hears the steps coming closer until they reach her door. 

The dark cloud hanging over her brightens slightly when she realises that Eve is standing on the other side of the door, ready to apologise. Villanelle would accept it and let her anger fall away if Eve just says those words and means them.

She walks to the door, waiting for a knock or a twist of the knob.

Except Eve doesn’t open it. She doesn’t apologise. And the sound of footsteps begins again, followed by a door quickly opening and closing.

This is why Villanelle doesn’t date she reminds herself. The absolute whiplash of a dinner with Eve leaves the bitter taste of vinegar in her mouth, and no contrasting sweetness to be had.

She knows though, somewhere in the depths of her mind, only Eve could put her through this.

Villanelle changes into her pyjamas and attempts to settle into bed. She’s unsuccessful.

In spite of it all, in spite of another day with the whirling dervish that is Eve, Villanelle knows that it also makes her pine for more of whatever the woman is willing to give. Unfortunately, it certainly feels like whenever Eve does give in a little, she immediately takes it away and pushes Villanelle out.

“Ugh,” Villanelle grumbles into her pillow. The cold, soft cotton of the pillowcase is the recipient of a few small punches with a frustrated fist.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She rolls around in bed for hours, attempting to lull herself to sleep with music and later scrolling through her Twitter feed like a bleary-eyed madwoman.

Once again, sleep doesn’t come and once again, it’s all Eve’s fault.

Villanelle simply can’t stop thinking about her.

Positively over this recurring exhausted state she finds herself in and its curly haired cause, Villanelle succumbs against her better judgment, jumps out of the bed opens the door intending to take a quiet walk through the vineyard to clear her head.

She finds Eve standing there, in the center of the hall, as if she’s been there for quite some time. It startles Villanelle.

She quickly recovers and steels herself.

“You owe me an apology, Eve,” Villanelle says as she steps into the hall.

“I’m not going to give you one,” she replies matter-of-factly and takes a step forward in kind.

She catches the obvious signs of something smoldering in the brown eyes that look back at her.

It sends Villanelle speeding from frustration and anger into uncensored fury. She closes the distance to Eve with two more steps.

“All I have ever done since we first met was try to help you. This is the thanks I get. You take and take everything I offer you but don’t bother to show me common courtesy in return. I –”

Villanelle’s rant is cut off.

Eve’s lips crash into hers and she’s pulled into Eve’s room. Villanelle nearly loses her balance as her legs threaten to buckle and she clumsily closes the door behind them.

She loses any train of thought she may have had as her mind flashes white and hot and everything in her is devoured by the singular force that is Eve. 

Villanelle wraps her arms around Eve and she returns the kiss with fierce intensity.

That’s what it is between them, always, _intensity._ It is palpable, it shoots through each of Villanelle’s nerve endings. It makes her blood pump with a fire that she’s never felt before.

Villanelle momentarily comes back to her senses as she realises her need to catch her breath but she cannot find it within herself to pull her lips away from Eve’s.

Eve must need to break for air as well and when she pulls away ever so slightly, Villanelle gives her an arrogant smirk. She moves her eyes from Eve’s lips briefly to meet her deep brown eyes, mere rings around the dark, blown pools of her pupils.

“If I’d known that this was what I had to do to get you to kiss me, Eve, I would have shown up yelling at your door weeks ago,” Villanelle whispers against her lips.

“Don’t be a smug asshole,” Eve says as her lips press against Villanelle’s again. She is ready for it this time and welcomes it.

Eve’s lips are warm and soft and inviting and she can taste the faintest hint of elegant red wine lingering on them. 

When Eve pushes her tongue past Villanelle’s lips, warm and soft cease to exist. Nothing else exists but the fire they create. Villanelle feels it envelop her completely.

Her tongue glides out, grazing across teeth and to meet Eve’s. Their kiss deepens and as Villanelle slides her hand up, she winds and twists her fingers, happily losing them in a bunch of long, dark curls.

The feel of Eve’s hair wrapped up against her skin is better than she imagined. It’s more luxurious than the finest silk fabrics Villanelle has ever touched.

They walk together, entirely connected toward the bed. The back of Eve’s legs hit the footboard and she drops her hands to the wood to steady herself.

Villanelle grabs Eve’s legs and lifts her onto the bed then brings both hands back up into Eve’s hair, in need of more contact. Each moment of the connection somehow ratcheting up the heat between them, so much so that the air becomes noticeably weighty and humid.

She lets the wood from the footboard dig into her thighs and could not care less about the sharp digging feeling it generates as she pushes herself as close as possible against Eve’s body.

Villanelle forgets about time until she feels Eve’s hand planted on her chest.

The movement of their lips and tongues eventually start to slow and she knows it’s all about to end. Before Eve pulls away, Villanelle firmly bites down on her bottom lip. It elicits a barely-there moan, one that Eve tries to suppress 

Villanelle soothes the bite with her tongue then she feels Eve's hand begin to push her away slightly.

Her hand reluctantly slides out of Eve’s curls, down her jawline to cup her cheek. They remain like that for a few seconds, breathing each other’s air.

“Good night, Villanelle,” Eve says quietly.

“Good night, Eve,” she answers as she rubs her thumb lightly across the woman’s cheek. She flashes a smug smile, takes one final, quick kiss and walks back to her room.

Villanelle does not know when or how or if she falls asleep. Her head is too full of Eve.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wakes up when a faint sound flutters through to reach her consciousness. Villanelle rolls over onto her side with a smile as she immediately reminds herself that last night, kissing Eve, was not another dream.

Pulling her hair into a messy bun, she walks out of her room in search of Eve.

Villanelle walks down the hall somewhat surprised Eve isn’t sitting there at the table. The noise that woke her came from the joint kitchen-living area.

She settles in to what she decides is _their_ routine and makes them coffee in the French press. When it’s ready, she fills two mugs with the steaming liquid and walks one down the hall to Eve’s room.

Villanelle knocks on the door and is met with no response. After a few more knocks, she opens the door slowly and announces herself.

“Eve? Good morning. I brought you coffee.”

The room is still and quiet and the bed is made. There are no bags or clothes or suitcases to be found.

Eve is gone.

Something in Villanelle knows that she’s already heading back to Kent like she said she would. It is a very Eve thing to do.

Villanelle lets out a heavy sigh.

Being left alone like this feels a little too familiar, makes her throat a little raw.

She takes the mug back into the living room and sits at the table.

As she sips on the now cooling coffee, Villanelle receives a text notification. It’s from an unknown number.

Villanelle opens her phone and reads the message.

She can feel a giant smile plastered on her face.

_Unknown: Sorry baby x_

She laughs in the empty room.

Villanelle likes confusing, frustrating, unpredictable Eve far more than she should. If only Eve would stay out of her own head long enough to actually get through a date, or a conversation, it would be so much easier for them both.

She is fairly certain that there will never come a time where Eve gets out of her own head.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle stands from chair and reaches across the desk to shake Kruger’s hand.

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice. Let me know when you have the estimate,” she says.

“Of course, Miss Astankova. I can assure you I will do my best.”

“I will hold you to that, Kruger.” Villanelle stares firmly and directly into the older man’s eyes for emphasis.

Villanelle is not a betting woman, the concept makes no sense to her. Yet she knows that she is taking a substantial risk with what this transaction despite how much she trusts her instincts.

“I will call you later,” Konstantin says to Kruger as Villanelle turns and reaches for the door.

They descend the stairs in silence. Villanelle knows he will have a great deal to say to her once they reach the street.

As expected, he starts, “Villanelle, why are you doing this?”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

“I do not want to see you get hurt and I told you not to do anything stupid.” He rubs his beard in frustration. “This is very stupid.”

“Trust me,” Villanelle says as she wraps him in a hug. “I know what I am doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you all enough for your continued interest in this story. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think about this chapter. Drop a comment and find me on twitter or tumblr.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Eve. She gets a win and gets a little drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is coming later in the day than usual.
> 
> You all should know that I wrote this entire chapter while vibing to Folklore. If you don't like this chapter, blame her.
> 
> Please take it easy on my poor Italian. It’s been about a decade since I last had to write anything in Italian.
> 
> Eve’s POV wine this chapter is a Pét-Nat. Let me start by saying I am really NOT a fan of Pét-Nats generally, given they have less than uniform carbonation (like Champagne for instance). Pét-Nats are wines that are bottled while they are in the midst of the fermentation process and have sugars still present (the sugars haven’t converted alcohol). These wines tend to be a popular style in the natural wine scene but are also highly unstable – kind of like Eve.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 11: Residual Sugar

_How do you explain running away after a kiss like that?_

Though they had spent the last two weeks exchanging text messages, neither had brought up Christmas or their kiss. Eve knows they can’t avoid talking about it any longer. 

She had done her best to bury her own thoughts on the kiss since she returned home. In typical Eve Polastri fashion, she threw herself into her work by inspecting the status of her wines each day, scheduling meetings with potential importers and researching financing options for the prospective purchase of Domaine Martens.

It was the last of those, Carolyn’s offer, which had occupied most of her time when her mind was not focused on Villanelle.

After her return from Champagne, it took her a few days to work up to asking her staff if they would blindly follow her into the unknown. Eve should have known that they’d all say yes. Their excitement had been so emphatic that it relieved some of the tension from her temples and shoulders that had been built up after running from the kiss.

Now, Eve has nowhere to run. Her friends have her cornered yet again.

She picks at the disintegrating mortar between the stones of cellar to distract herself. The small, gritty flakes scratching between her fingers and briefly catch under one of her nails.

“Jesus, Eve. You’ve really cocked this whole thing up,” Bill says.

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

“You seriously just freaked out and left. I still can’t believe it,” he says shaking his head.

“What are you going to do,” Kenny asks while he fidgets with a barrel.

“I don’t know what I can do,” Eve sighs.

“Come on. You can do better than that,” Elena chimes in as she walks over to join them.

Eve lets out a sigh. She leans her back against a barrel and rubs her forehand with her hand.

“Do you know what she likes,” Elena asks.

“So far, I only know she has very expensive taste in everything,” Eve says.

She moves over to Kenny and takes a barrel sample he offers to her to taste.

“That’s shite. You’re terrible at this,” Bill says.

“Maybe you should read some of her old articles,” Kenny suggests, “see if you can find anything out that way.”

“Oh my god. That’s terrible. It isn’t an exam,” Elena says as she pokes his side with her elbow.

“What? What’s wrong with research,” Kenny asks in honest confusion.

“I’m definitely not doing that,” Eve supplies after she tastes the sample. She shakes her head at Kenny, indicating the wine is not quite finished with the aging process.

“Just get your head out of your arse and go see her already. It’s been nearly two weeks.” As usual, Bill makes no effort to mince words.

_He’s right._

It was time to do something. Eve had sworn off passivity when she ended things with Niko, no longer taking a backseat in her own life.

“I agree with Bill. You need to go to Villanelle for once,” Elena says, “and if you don’t, I just might offer myself up. She’s smoking hot and does nice things for you.”

Kenny deadpans and they can all tell he is in crisis. It makes Eve chuckle at the momentary levity.

“Very funny, Elena. I haven’t heard any bright ideas from you either.”

“I don’t have any. But I _do_ know that you’ve got to do something. I’m knackered at watching you continue to fuck this up.”

“We all are,” Bill points out. “Besides, you ought to talk to her about Domaine Martens.”

Eve scoffs at the suggestion. She is certainly far more tired than they are. She has been running on fumes for weeks trying to decide if buying the winery will be possible in between her bouts of self-loathing.

“Have you told Villanelle that you have feelings for her,” he asks.

She’d kissed Villanelle and she was sure that when she did Villanelle could feel same energy that smoldered between them that Eve had.

And yet, Eve doesn’t want to answer that question. She hasn’t told Villanelle anything, only sent a series of awkward mixed signals and text messages.

Eve has yet to reconcile everything and she knows it. Her desire and her fear, both lingering.

“Of course you haven’t,” Elena says as she smacks the table in frustration.

She isn’t sure if she can tell Villanelle.

When Elena continues, she says, “We’ll deal with this later. But you do have your meeting with Hugo in twenty. You better go.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve opens the door and welcomes Hugo Turner into her living room.

“Hi, Hugo,” she says with a smile.

“Eve. Always lovely to see you.”

Despite all her efforts to find suitable loan arrangements to make Carolyn an offer, Eve had yet to find someone she felt like she could trust, either as a partner or an investor or someone to set her up with the right contacts. It was a last ditch effort to reach out to Hugo and she only did it after Bill’s repeated urging.

Hugo was the son of a Polastri Group executive and Eve knew how risky it would be to tempt those waters and cross Niko in such a direct way, while they were both vying for the same winery.

Eve and Hugo had always had a friendly, albeit strangely flirtatious, relationship. He was eager to take the piss out of his parents and was looking to make his own name in the beverage business. 

He was there for The Bridge re-launch party in the fall to offer his support and she truly felt like Hugo could be a valuable ally in her quest to buy Domaine Martens.

“So,” he asks as he takes a seat on her sofa, “you’re finally after my money like the rest of them?”

“Not exactly,” Eve answers with an eye roll.

“Oh come on, Eve. You’ve been teasing me for years. Here I am,” he says with his arms outstretched, “take what you want.”

Eve punches him in the shoulder.

“Can you please be serious,” she asks as she walks to the kitchen.

“No, I can’t. It’s one of my many lovable qualities.”

Eve fills glasses of water for each of them and returns to the living room. She hands a glass to Hugo.

“You’ve got that Cambridge education, why do you think you’re here?”

Eve knows Hugo went to Oxford, as he likes to remind everyone he’s ever met anytime he ever speaks.

“See, you are a tease. You know full well I’m an Oxford man.”

“Whatever, it’s the same damn thing.”

Hugo gasps a huge pull of air and lifts his arm across his chest dramatically.

“Hardly.”

“Are you going to listen to my proposal or not,” Eve asks. She’s growing slightly irritated the more Hugo forces her to play along with this little game. 

“Alright, fine. Tell me.”

“Polastri Group has made an offer to Carolyn Martens to purchase her winery in Champagne. It’s completely confidential right now, so you can’t say anything.”

“I already know, Eve.”

She tilts her head to the side, puzzled.

“How?”

“I had lunch with Dad and Niko last week, they were talking about it. Seems like Niko really wants to stick it to you with this one,” Hugo says with a large shit-eating grin on his face.

“Yeah. I figured as much. That’s why I’m going to beat him at his game. I want to buy Domaine Martens and I could really use your help.”

“Hmm.” Hugo leans over and rests his elbows on his knees. 

It beckons Eve closer.

“What’s in it for me,” he asks.

She’s ready for this question. Eve spent hours preparing for this meeting and she knows exactly what it will take to get Hugo on her side.

“For starters, you can get out from under your family’s thumb. Make your own go at this as an investor. I intend to fully pay you back, with interest, because I believe in my ability to take the domaine to the next level and make it a cult classic grower Champagne.”

“I’m listening,” Hugo says.

“Plus, I’d want you to work with me to establish any new marketing and import opportunities from all of your contacts in the business.”

“O-kay,” he says. It sounds like there’s hesitation in his voice.

Eve starts to feel her nerves welling in the pit of her stomach, fearful that he will turn her down. She’s running up against Carolyn’s deadline and needs to find the money for a down payment, or at least put in her offer, within the next few weeks.

“That’s all I’ve got, really,” she admits with a sigh.

Hugo leans back against the sofa and runs a hand through his curly hair in thought for what feels like several long minutes.

“Tell you what. I’ll float you a loan on one condition.”

Without hesitation, Eve says, “Name it.”

“When you buy the place, I get free reign to throw the biggest fucking party of the year.”

“Deal.”

Eve reaches out her hand, offering to Hugo. He accepts and they shake on it.

He stands from the sofa and buttons his suit jacket.

“I’ll have my people call you tomorrow and work out the details.”

“Perfect,” she says calmly. Eve is proud that she manages to contain her excitement.

As he reaches the door, Hugo says, “One more thing, Eve.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like you to make this public as soon as the papers are signed with Carolyn. It’ll be great for my brand.”

“Sure. Let me run it by her, but I don’t see why I can’t do that. I’m doing an interview for an upcoming issue of The Twelve later this month.”

“Even better. I look forward to reading you waxing on about how wonderful I am.”

Eve rolls her eyes at him again.

“I’m not much of a bullshit artist these days, Hugo. But I’ll do my best.”

He walks out the door and Eve feels the pure elation of her impending victory wash over her. 

A dream that’s been decades in the making will finally become a reality. It’s nearly perfect.

Though she knows that she needs to keep things quiet until all the paperwork is complete and the deal is finalised, Eve feels the sudden urge to share the news with someone.

One particular someone.

She grabs her phone from her pocket without thinking and sends a text to Villanelle. As she begins her message, Eve decides tonight will be the perfect opportunity to put an end to the other uncertainty in her life as well – she will figure out exactly what it is she feels for Villanelle and which of her competing feelings will win out.

Eve: Hi. Are you busy tonight? I’d like to talk to you about something.

_Villanelle: No plans. Where do you want to meet?_

Eve: Somewhere quiet.

_Villanelle: I’ll send you the details._

Eve: OK

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They meet outside of a small, lowly-lit Italian restaurant. It’s unassuming and looks to be one of those secret places, hidden from the outside world and the unsuspecting public.

Villanelle swings the door open and motions Eve inside.

“Ciao, Cesare,” Villanelle bellows as she leads them to a small table in the corner of the equally small restaurant.

It’s her usual spot Eve thinks. She feels a small wave of warmth pass through her at the idea that Villanelle would share a place that is hers. 

“Villanelle! Come stai,” the older man with grey hair answers.

Eve listens in quiet awe as Villanelle launches into a conversation in Italian with the proprietor. She makes her best effort to steel her expression so she doesn’t give away just how impressed she is by the exchange.

“Bene. Cosa hai cucinato oggi?”

“Papparedelle al ragu di cinghiale e torta della nonna.”

“Perfetto,” Villanelle smiles, “per due.”

“Vino,” Cesare asks.

“Sì. Assolutamente.”

The man walks away.

“You speak Italian,” Eve asks curiously. She does her level best to hide the way conversation quickly became one of the sexier things Eve has listened to in recent memory. 

The way the words rolled off Villanelle’s tongue were virtually intoxicating.

Villanelle smirks.

Eve feels reality hit her like a ton of bricks. There won’t be an escape from Villanelle.

_These are definitely romantic feelings and they aren’t going away._

“Yes. Among others,” she says with a pop of her shoulder.

“Hmm.” Eve sits back in her chair and folds her arms as coolly as possible.

She can’t help but wonder how many other languages the blonde knows, how the syllables sound as they reverberate off her lips.

Eve doesn’t want to admit just how attractive Villanelle has become to her in such a short period of time. Of course she is an undeniable stunning woman, but in the time they have spent together, Eve has started to learn there’s much more to her.

Without thinking, she hears herself asking, “How many languages do you speak?”

Villanelle taps her index finger to her chin as if she has to think about it.

“I am fluent in Russian, English, French, Italian, German, Spanish…”

She trails off, actually considering additional languages to add to the list. 

“I am learning Mandarin. Then Irina wants me to try Icelandic next, but I do not think that will be so useful for work.”

Eve feels her mouth slightly agape and she finds herself in awe of it.

“Why,” is all she can manage to ask.

“Why what, Eve?”

“Why do you speak so many languages? Seriously, if I didn’t know any better, between that and the impersonations, you could pass for a spy or something.”

Villanelle laughs and shrugs her shoulders.

“They come naturally to me. I enjoyed learning about places that were _not_ Russia and it made sense to learn the languages along the way.”

Eve thinks about what she would have been like as a child, tall and lean, with a backpack full of books and parents doting on her every time she mastered something new.

Before she can get too lost in her thoughts, Cesare returns with a slightly dusty bottle of 1999 Massolino Barolo in hand and presents it to Villanelle.

She gestures toward Eve, clearly inviting her to be the final arbiter on their choice of drink.

Eve senses Villanelle watching her as she studies the bottle. Though slightly distracted by the heat from her eyes, Eve looks the wine over and quickly sifts through her labyrinth of knowledge on Italian wine and vintages as she considers it.

“That works. Thank you,” Eve says to Cesare with a polite smile.

After Cesare pours wine into each of their glasses and walks away, Eve clears her throat and prepares for oncoming, much delayed talk.

Before she can get a word out, Villanelle starts, “So,” she says, “what are you going to do, Eve?”

The question catches Eve off guard and she isn’t sure what Villanelle means.

“About,” Eve asks, narrowing her eyes.

“Carolyn? Domaine Martens?”

Eve lets out a sigh, slightly relieved to begin with a seemingly less difficult matter though it has plagued her nearly as much as the kiss.

Suddenly though, the air feels heavier, more constricting as Eve thinks about how she will tell Villanelle about her need to purchase the property, her now secret plan with Hugo and the implications it has.

While she wanted to tell Villanelle as soon as things were set in motion, she finds it difficult to get the words out.

“You were right,” she says through gritted teeth.

She sees Villanelle brim with excitement as soon ad the words escape her mouth. 

It’s incredibly annoying to watch Villanelle’s smug face light up, yet it takes some of the weight away from it all and Eve finally explains the full scope of the matter.

“I can’t let that fucker take it.”

Eve watches as something clicks into place for Villanelle. She wants to know what it is but before she can inquire, Villanelle tilts her head to eagerly steer the conversation along.

“Who exactly is that fucker?”

“I shouldn’t say,” Eve says only somewhat guiltily.

Villanelle’s eyes narrow and she folds her fingers together, leaning conspiratorially closer across the table.

“Now you _have_ to tell me.”

Eve chuckles and shakes her head then narrowing her gaze to match Villanelle’s. She only does it for show because Eve all too willingly succumbs to the idea that she doesn’t give a shit who knows that she isn’t going to give into Niko again without a fight.

“It’s Niko. The Polastri’s want to buy Domaine Martens… I’m pretty sure it’s some pitiful attempt to get under my skin. Hugo Turner confirmed as much to me earlier today.”

“Ah. The moustache,” Villanelle says. It comes out with a noticeable touch of acrimony and makes Eve laugh. She finds there is a glint of mirth in Villanelle’s eyes when she says it.

“What is the new plan, Eve?”

“Like I said… I talked to Hugo today. He has enough money to help me get started on a payment schedule for Carolyn. I’m definitely going to have to sell The Bridge soon, and everything I make in the meantime goes toward paying Carolyn and Hugo back.”

Eve takes a quick sip of her wine, momentarily overcome with the thought of millions of pounds worth of financing she’ll need from her friend.

“I might have to sell a kidney or a lung as well,” Eve jokes as she shrugs her shoulder.

Cesare returns with the pappardelle and they both dig in.

Villanelle makes a disgusted face as Eve twirls a long noodle around her fork.

“Did you cut your noodles and spin them around your fork using a spoon,” she asks in shock.

“Uhm… yes,” Eve answers through a mouthful of dismembered pasta.

“Eve,” Villanelle says as she puts her hands over her heart, “how could you?”

All Eve can do is roll her eyes at Villanelle and do it again with a larger, more obnoxious flair.

The look Villanelle gives her, a perfect mix of horror and affection, causes Eve to forget entirely about any thought of Niko or debt. She is grateful that Villanelle can manage to navigate those moments so expertly. 

The blonde is frighteningly disarming in that way, she makes the rest of the world disappear for Eve – whether they’re arguing or kissing or teasing one another. 

Nothing else exists in those moments.

It makes Eve want to kiss her again.

_Yep. Legitimate, romantic feelings._

Eve is terrified by her new reality and takes a long, deep swallow of wine.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cesare walking toward them with a bottle of Sambuca.

She thinks something stronger may be just what she needs to steady herself. Plus she deserves it, Eve is pulling off a wine coup.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Standing outside in the cold January night, Eve can’t feel the sting of the wind. The warmth of alcohol and the warmth of Villanelle’s arm across her waist are all that she feels amidst the spinning sidewalk.

She looks up at the blonde and watches the grimace on her face as she carries Eve down the road a few steps.

“Why are you so nice to me,” Eve mumbles.

Villanelle looks down at her and smiles. She eases them toward the waiting car.

“I like you, Eve. I cannot help myself.”

Eve groans at that.

“Ugh. You’re too nice, Vill’nelle. It’s frussstrating.”

Eve stops in her tracks and sways.

“I think about… about you. All... the time.”

The confession makes Villanelle freeze. Even in her drunken state, Eve can see it.

“What,” Villanelle asks, hands now in her pockets, looking back Eve like she is utterly gobsmacked.

“Whuuut,” Eve asks in kind as she falls back against the side of the restaurant.

“Come on. I am taking you home,” Villanelle instructs. She opens the door and pulls Eve into the waiting Uber.

“N-no. I don’t want to go home,” Eve protests.

Villanelle buckles her in and the car pulls away in a hurry, causing Eve’s head cracks off the window.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eve rolls over and shakes away the weight of sleep by rubbing her eyes a few times. As soon as she comes into herself, she feels the acute thundering of a jackhammering hangover across her skull.

She lets out a loud groan and massages her temples. After a few moments, Eve becomes hyperaware that she is not at home in her own bed. The fear of a blurry night and waking up in a completely unfamiliar place only serves to exacerbate her hangover.

Eve throws the duvet and sheets off her body and in a flurry of nerves, anxiety and impending regret, she checks to make sure she is still fully clothed. When Eve sees that she still wears her same outfit from yesterday, she breathes a sigh of relief.

She sits up to push out of the mysterious bed and when she does, Eve finds a familiar honey blonde hair messily poking out beneath a set of covers that are set out along the hard oak floor.

She can’t help but smile at the innocent sight of Villanelle so soundly asleep. Eve carefully tiptoes around her, trying not to disturb her sleep. From her location near the bed, in the center of a large open floor plan, Eve spots the kitchen and quietly walks over to it in search for a glass of water.

After rummaging through a few of the cabinets, she finds what she’s looking for and fills the glass. She downs the liquid in two massive gulps and immediately does the same with the refill.

Next, Eve begins the search for her shoes, parka and purse. As she walks across the open living space, Eve’s eyes lock on the massive Eurocave fridge.

Intrigued, she opens it and looks over various labels. Villanelle has excellent taste in wine, Eve collects many of the same bottles herself.

_No surprise there._

Then she sees them, her bottles. Her heart does a quick somersault in her chest and Eve wills herself to make it stop.

Returning to the search for her things, she finds them set delicately near an antique desk covered in papers and writing, including a stack of official looking documents in Russian. Eve picks up one sheet of paper covered in notes in Villanelle’s unmistakable handwriting.

While she reads over a series of tasting notes, Eve’s feels a small rush of energy flutter out from her chest. She briefly looks back to Villanelle and confirms she hasn’t moved from her prior position on the floor.

The feeling terrifies her. It’s been years since she felt it and it seems all too intense in the moment it mixes with a spinning stomach and throbbing headache.

She finds her purse, shoes and parka resting near the desk. Eve quietly slips on her shoes and coat and walks down the stairs. Slinging the purse over her shoulder, she feels the vibration of her cell phone.

Eve reaches into her bag and finally sees the time 10.13 and the notifications for three missed calls from Elena, four texts from Bill.

There is one additional missed call notification that causes her breath to hitch in her throat. It’s a missed call from Niko.

The sourness in her stomach only intensifies while Eve thinks of the reasons Niko would have to call. All start and end with her attempt to sneak in under his nose and purchase Domaine Martens.

_Fuck._

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Now properly on edge, she reaches the door and hears footsteps coming to a rest behind her at the top of the landing.

“Eve,” Villanelle asks sleepily.

“Yes,” Eve answers with her back to the blonde, feeling slightly guilty for attempting to run out the door without saying goodbye.

_Running again._

“Where are you going?”

With a deep breath in and out, Eve turns and looks up to Villanelle. She briefly meets her gaze and immediately averts her eyes when she finds a clear look of disappointment splayed across Villanelle’s face. Her arms are folded across her chest, barely covering another robe that threatens to overwhelm Eve’s eyes with its provocative cut.

“Uhm… I really need to get home. I should be there when Hugo’s team calls,” she says as she stuffs her hands in the pockets of her parka. A larger pang of guilt slowly begins to devour Eve.

“Are you sure you do not want to stay,” Villanelle asks. Eve hears a twinge of desperation in the question. “We should talk.”

Eve looks down at her feet, rather embarrassed. She shifts a little on her feet and rubs her fingers against her now sweating palms. These aren’t feeling she likes to deal with under normal circumstances and trying to do it while her head is sliced open and stomach is lurching from a severe hangover is unbearable.

“No. I think I need to go,” Eve says quietly. “Niko called, so he must already know what’s happening. We can talk another time,” her voice trails off as she finishes.

She has a vague recollection of the end of their meal and leaving the restaurant. There is a blank space where Eve should have a memory of finding her way to Villanelle’s flat and winding up sleeping in her bed.

Not knowing what happened or what she might have said, it’s beyond embarrassing.

“Can I walk with you to your car,” Villanelle asks.

Eve finds a bit of resolve and makes eye contact again. When she does, she notices something that looks like hope staring back at her. It’s hard to pick up on at first, hidden beneath the veneer of alluring self-assuredness.

“Sure,” Eve says.

“Okay – just a minute. I will get changed,” Villanelle says as she walks off.

When she returns, Villanelle is dressed in black joggers, a puffy black bomber jacket and high top sneakers. It’s such a starkly different look for the woman that Eve feels herself staring.

“What is it,” Villanelle asks as she walks down the stairs.

She can’t help it. Even when Eve tries to avoid it, Villanelle always manages to draw her back in, seemingly without even trying.

“Nothing. It’s just – I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Like what?” Villanelle raises her eyebrow.

“You look so… casual. It’s different. I like it,” Eve says with a half smile in an effort to lighten the mood.

“Thank you, Eve.”

The compliment generates a small, bright smile from Villanelle. Something about it makes Eve’s gut flip over at the sight.

In the midst of the winter morning, through the haze of a hangover and concern for her plans, Eve feels something settling in her chest once again. The reality she has ignored for weeks.

She can’t run from her desire to kiss Villanelle again. It permeates the haze of her hangover with shocking clarity.

Eve only hopes that in the blank spaces that escape her memory she hasn’t done something to prevent it from happening again. She broaches it with hesitation in her voice.

“Uh,” Eve says as she clears her throat, “what happened last night.”

“You don’t remember,” Villanelle asks.

“No – not really.”

Villanelle chuckles softly and turns her eyes back to the path in front of them.

“You used very colourful language to describe your ex-husband.”

Eve runs a hand through her hair and sighs, dreading anything else she may have said.

“Oh god, I’m sorry about that.”

“And you said some other things too,” Villanelle continues. She kicks a small pebble with her sneaker as they walk, hesitating.

It’s so unlike Villanelle. She is typically full of so much confidence, it is one of things Eve finds most attractive. In the most frustrating of ways.

The feeling of dread settles deeper in Eve’s stomach.

“What did I say?”

Villanelle pauses and in an instant, her expression changes completely. 

“You said you think about me all of the time.”

“Oh…” is all Eve has to say. She thought she was ready to talk about this, but she isn’t.

Villanelle smiles, and it’s forced, it doesn’t reach her eyes. She seems nervous too.

“Is that true,” she asks.

Eve represses her suddenly growing urge to run away from the incredibly uncomfortable situation. She lets out a deep huff of air while her stomach winds into sickly knots.

“Uhm – I…” Eve mumbles with her head down, hands in her pockets, trying to make herself small. She doesn’t know what to say, can’t will herself to explain her feelings in any level of detail.

There are still so many questions in her mind, so many reasons to back away despite her clear attraction. They rush to her in that moment.

_What if things didn’t work out between them?_

_Is there time for this kind of distraction during the negotiations with Carolyn and inevitable fighting with Niko?_

_Is it possible to really trust Villanelle with all that is happening now?_

_How would another bad article impact her plans with Domaine Martens?_

All the swirling in her mind cause Eve to choke on the simple ‘yes’ she knows she wants say.

They finally reach the car after the long beats of silence that stretches between them and Eve deposits her purse in the passenger seat in an effort to buy a few extra moments to consider how she can answer.

When Eve finally stands and makes eye contact with Villanelle again, she finds that a flicker of resignation meets her.

It causes Eve to break.

Villanelle simply smiles at her then sighs.

“I will see you next week for the interview.”

“Okay.”

“I will call Elena to set a time.”

Villanelle leans over next to her ear then whispers, “Good luck with Hugo and Niko. I’m so happy for you, Eve.”

Then she backs away and opens Eve’s door for her.

Eve slips into the car and turns the key before she can stop to think.

When she pulls onto the road, Eve looks through her rearview mirror and catches Villanelle’s back as she walks away, her head slumped in a way she’s never seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone for your kind comments and kudos. It makes me so happy to know that people are enjoying this story.
> 
> With that said, if you want to yell at me in the comments or on twitter or tumblr this week because Eve is an idiot, feel free to do so!
> 
> Just a head's up, I'm thinking of participating in some or all of Killing Eve Week at the end of the month. The updates may take a backseat to that if I decide to do so, but I'm going to try my best to stay on or close to schedule.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this finally the moment Eve quits fucking things up?
> 
> TBD.
> 
> Am I a sucker for shouting matches in the rain? 
> 
> In the immortal words of Villanelle: Uhm, yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely a transition point for this fic - at least I hope it is...
> 
> I struggled a little with the appropriate POV wine for this chapter, but here we are. 
> 
> Villanelle’s POV wine is an Etna Rosso – as you might expect, a wine grown on the slopes of Mount Etna tends to have this beautiful smoky quality to it that comes from the volcanic ash in the soil. This chapter for V is finally the place where she finally has her own semi-volcanic, explosive moment.
> 
> FYI - I'm going to take a two week break from posting this story to participate in Killing Eve week. I have some ideas rolling around in my brain for each of the prompts, so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 12: Grafting

She slides the plastic door to the mirror on her visor closed and pushes it back up toward the roof of the car with a pleasant _‘thwack’._

Villanelle then takes the opportunity to check her emails and begins browsing over the latest round of documents Pyotr had emailed when she glances over at the clock on the car’s dash. She is using this time to create the appearance of a fashionably late arrival before her interview with Eve, to make her wait for once.

A sudden tap on her window startles her.

When she turns to see the person at her door, Villanelle finds Eve Polastri, the unmistakable, enigmatic woman who dominates her thoughts, standing in the driveway.

Eve folds her arms across her chest and produces an angry scowl.

Villanelle lets her finger hover over the button for her window, hesitating. She cannot force her brain to process the unexpected sight quickly enough.

With a sigh, she presses the button to allow the window to crack slightly, doing her best to make herself deny Eve. 

Villanelle had successfully ignored all of Eve’s texts since they parted ways a week ago though it was difficult at times.

Somewhere along the way, Villanelle caught feelings for Eve, and they hurt. They still hurt.

“Hello,” she says with her mouth pointed up toward the small gap in the window.

“Villanelle, what are you doing,” Eve asks in her constantly curt, sometimes unkind tone.

“I am preparing for our interview.” Villanelle is proud of the improvised answer and makes a mental note to pat herself on the back for it later.

“Are you planning to come inside, or did you just want to do this out here in the parking lot through this piss poor gap in the glass?”

As much as she typically enjoys Eve’s vitriol, Villanelle reminds herself of what it felt like when the brunette could not admit the truth. She lets the disappointment from that morning flood through and harden her.

“I will find you when I am ready to begin. I have a few more things to finish first,” Villanelle says as she closes her window.

“Okay.”

Villanelle watches as Eve walks down the steps toward her home.

She sits there for several long moments, tapping her foot on the floor of the car and biting her lip, trying to decide how long to wait before proceeding.

After finishing her review of documents and emails, Villanelle resolves that she should get simply get on with it and do her job. She is too good not to do her job.

Villanelle opens the door and makes her way down the same path to Eve’s house.

She feels her heart pounding hard against her ribcage despite her internal protests to make it stop.

With a huff, she reaches the porch and balls her hand up into a fist to knock. Before she connects, the door swings open and Villanelle is face to face with a balding man who gives her knowing look.

“Ah,” he says, “the infamous Villanelle.”

She doesn’t bother to fight the grin that instinctively appears on her face. Villanelle loves that people know her. 

Though she shouldn’t, she loves it even more that Eve’s people know of her.

“Guilty,” she quips.

As he backs away to welcome her inside, the woman Villanelle remembers from Eve’s re-launch, Elena, strides in from what looks to be the office.

“Can I take your… tartan,” Elena asks.

With a sly smile and shrug of her shoulders, Villanelle pops the heavy wool coat off and hands it over politely.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Bill by the way,” the man says while he holds out his hand.

Villanelle takes it and gives him a firm shake.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” he continues with a wink.

“Only the good parts are true, I can assure you,” Villanelle answers. “Though knowing Eve, I am sure she hasn’t said many nice things.”

That makes both Bill and Elena laugh and Villanelle joins them, happy that her joke lands.

Through his laughter, Bill says, “Yes, well, I learned some time ago that with our Eve, you have to assume half of what she says is total shite.”

“Ha! Only half,” Elena adds, “I’d say the whole lot.”

“I like you both,” Villanelle muses. “I’m not sure how you have managed to put up with her this long.”

“It’s been quite the struggle,” Elena says.

“Yeah. Lucky for us, we have an unlimited supply on booze on hand anytime she decides to pop off.” Bill wiggles his eyebrows in a way Villanelle finds immediately endearing. 

It is no wonder that Eve has been so concerned for her staff and friends, they are lovely.

The entertaining banter provided by Eve’s staff allows the tiniest sliver of light to permeate into Villanelle. She had been dreading this interview the entire week, desperate to avoid more pain or heartbreak at the hands of an infuriating woman.

Villanelle even went so far as to try and persuade Konstantin to interview Eve himself to no avail. That had been a major mistake on her part and led to far more questions from him about what she was doing with Eve, what had happened and why she did not want to go see her though she had forced him to spend Christmas with her.

Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, Villanelle asks, “So, where is she?”

“Eve’s down in her cellar. I’ll take you to her.” Elena turns and leads her toward the back of the house and a long set of stairs.

As Villanelle moves past her, Elena stops her to whisper something.

“We’re pulling for you, you know.”

The comment catches Villanelle off guard and she feels herself pull a questioning look.

“With Eve I mean,” Elena says. “She is too. She’ll come round.”

Much to her annoyance, Villanelle briefly permits hope to blossom in her heart for the first time since she stood outside Eve’s car.

It is equally comforting and chilling because she knows all too well where it will most likely lead, more heartache on her part.

“Thanks, Elena. I wish you were right but I do not think Eve knows what she wants.”

As she descends, Villanelle forces the hope back down to the depths of her soul – somewhere she can keep it safe and protected from another incident with Eve. 

She will not be fooled again.

Villanelle is already willing to go too far and do too much for a woman who is incapable of admitting her own clear feelings.

When she reaches the ground, she finds Eve sitting at a small table with a frustrating smirk plastered on her face.

“Nice of you to finally join me,” she says.

“Yes, well – you may be shocked to know this, Eve, my work doesn’t revolve around you.”

Villanelle notices that the bitterness in her voice causes the brunette to stumble as she thinks of a response.

_Good._

“What… I – I didn’t mean it like that. Christ, it was just a joke.”

Villanelle takes a seat beside Eve and sets her notebook and recorder on the table.

“I would prefer if we did not joke and just got through this.”

Eve furrows her brow.

“Oh. Uhm, okay.”

Villanelle opens her notebook to a fresh page and presses the record button on both the recorder and her cell phone.

“First off, do you want to talk about Domaine Martens or not,” Villanelle asks pointedly.

As she was preparing for the interview, Villanelle decided that walking through Eve’s history in Champagne, including those early years she worked for Carolyn, would offer readers the most insight into her current process and make them excited about her future back in France.

Villanelle had read through a number of prior articles and interviews with Eve after she resigned herself to the idea she had to do this. She quickly became aware that no one had ever taken the time to actually get into Eve’s head about her style of winemaking. Most had pointed out that it was distinct, none had bothered to ask why or how she arrived at that point.

“Yeah, we can talk about it. My offer’s in, Carolyn’s accepted and everyone knows anyhow.”

“Tell me about how you met Carolyn initially, why you left for The Bridge and why you are ready to go back to Champagne.”

“Wow, uhm,” Eve says as she runs a hand through her hair, “that’s a lot.”

“Yes, this is an interview, remember,” Villanelle huffs.

“You know all this stuff already, can’t we just skip this part?”

Villanelle pushes the pause button to stop the recordings. She looks pointedly across the table into dark brown eyes.

“Eve, if you do not want to do this my way, please don’t waste my time.”

“Ugh. I’m sorry – you’re right,” Eve says as she straightens up in her chair and waits for Villanelle to restart the recordings. “Let me try this again.”

“Alright,” Villanelle says, “Go ahead.”

She tries to keep an even demeanor as she listens to Eve recount the story of backpacking across continental Europe during the summer after her first year at university.

Villanelle watches as flickers of excitement dance across her features at the memory of last minute work during an unusually early harvest in Champagne with a new friend she’d met during her travels, Bill. She had to find a job so she could afford her plane ticket back to the States. 

“I was completely out of money and stuck in France with no way to get home. Luckily, Bill is Bill and he had friends who were working a harvest in Champagne… they helped us get jobs too,” Eve says with a soft smile forming in the corner of her lips.

It is such a charming story, one that doesn’t sound at all like the Eve that Villanelle has come to know. She cannot imagine the idea of Eve existing in a place where she does not overthink every move and decision so meticulously it causes a headache just to think about it.

It makes Villanelle wish Eve still had some of that in her, somewhere. Maybe that version of Eve would find space to open herself up to trying and giving in to her feelings.

“And as soon as I landed back in the U.S., I went to my guidance counselor’s office on campus and started the process to transfer to UC Davis,” Eve says. “It was and still is the best decision I’ve ever made. Their winemaking program is the best in America, though there was something to be desired for any true education in sparkling wine.”

“How did you come to work for Carolyn?”

“One of my professors, Helen Jacobson, was able to get me an apprenticeship after my senior year. For all of Carolyn’s quirks, she and I worked well together and she asked me to stay on.”

“What would you say were you influences in those years,” Villanelle asks.

It is a question she has always been so curious about – Eve’s style of Champagne was so markedly different from the previous style of Domaine Martens cuvées.

The question makes the brunette ever so slightly bristle and silence hangs in the air for several long moments.

“Eve, you said you were going to answer my questions,” Villanelle reminds her.

“I know. It’s just – it’s been years since I even thought about it.”

Villanelle raises an eyebrow and waits.

She watches as Eve clears her throat.

“My first few years in Champagne, I spent a lot of time with some of the other young winemakers in the area.”

“I did not know that – Who did you spend time with?”

The question comes spilling out before Villanelle knows what she is asking, now too enthralled by Eve despite her efforts to remain level. 

“I used to ride my motorcycle over to Domaine Moreau. Louise was still alive, she and I were close in age and still some of the only women working in the wineries. We’d taste through her family’s older bottles while she was preparing to take over for her father.”

Villanelle catches something that she swears looks like sadness or regret in Eve’s eyes. She only knows a bit about the now-defunct Domaine Moreau and Louise, who tragically died in a skiing accident years ago.

There is a pull at the back of Villanelle’s mind that urges her to ask more questions about Louise, something that she cannot quite put her finger on.

She also wants to ask Eve about her motorcycle, the image of her zipping through the winding hills of French countryside and wind whipping her hair wildly is enticing even though she is determined to fight her attraction.

Villanelle decides to ask a less probing question, one that she thinks will still garner the answers she wants to hear.

“What was it about the Moreau wines that were significant for you,” Villanelle asks.

“It wasn’t the wines so much as it was Louise herself. She was really ahead of the curve with the way she thought about winemaking. The ideas we discussed always stuck with me… she stuck with me. I’ve tried to use some of the things we talked about in my own winemaking and vineyard management in the years since.”

“Ah,” is all Villanelle manages to say. She quickly scribbles in her notebook to make it seem as though she is writing while she regains her train of thought.

There are so many more questions she has now – what happened between them, _were they together,_ why did she end up with Niko?

She forces them down though they threaten to spill out of her mouth. Villanelle has to once again remind herself that she and Eve aren’t anything other than professional acquaintances.

“When you started working for Carolyn as the winery’s actual winemaker,” Villanelle begins, “you changed out many of the historical processes. I’m curious what you maintained and how you worked through finding the balance?”

“Those first few vintages were difficult, obviously. I’d be lying if I said Carolyn and I didn’t spend hours arguing about what was best and what needed changed. It was slow going, but eventually she started to see and taste what I was telling her. The hardest battle was getting her to trust me with picking decisions. I wanted to pick early, always, for the acidity and vibrancy.”

Eve’s voice trails off as the muffled sounds of what must be shouting reach them down in the cellar.

“Bloody hell,” Eve says. The annoyance and confusion is evident in her tone.

Villanelle shrugs her shoulders and they both turn their attention to the stairs where the door creaks open and large frame clattering down toward them.

A disheveled man with a scruffy ginger beard hurries to Eve, gasping to catch his breath.

“What the fuck, Bear?”

“Eve…” the man, appropriately named Bear, pants. “It’s the…the reserve tank.”

He continues to huff as he rests one heavy palm on the table and leans over his knees.

“Christ. Just spit it out,” Eve shouts as she pushes up to her feet.

“A reserve tank. It’s spoilt.”

Villanelle raises a questioning eyebrow, unsure if she heard him right. It’s not possible for a winery’s back vintage reserve wine, used to top off the blended wine each year to achieve a more complementary house style, to be destroyed. 

These things do not happen, ever. Certainly not when those reserve wines are stored in the most controlled of environments, pressurized and temperature-controlled stainless steel tanks for years on end.

“How? That’s impossible,” Eve says as she shakes her head. “Are you sure you didn’t eat too many of those goddamned Haribo snacks again and lost your taste buds?”

“They’re _Fangtastics_ – and I had Kenny double-check everything to be sure,” he says as he wipes some of the beads of sweat off his brow.

“Shit,” Eve mutters as she pushes past Bear and bounds up the stairs.

Villanelle looks at him with slight contempt and quickly frowns. Before she knows it, she is out the door after Eve.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How the _fuck_ could this happen,” Eve screams as she kicks a bucket hard against the wall of her winery. 

The sound of the _‘clack’_ echoes through the long open space and everyone stares at her, unsure of what to say.

“Wood chips don’t just fall into bloody closed vats of wine. This – this was no accident,” Eve barks to the group.

Bill takes a cautious step forward, as if he’s approaching an agitated animal. “We should all just take a moment, Eve,” he says tentatively.

Eve turns the small tap on the damaged tank.

“Please Bill,” Eve hisses as the destroyed liquid pours out on the ground, “explain to me how you’d like to take a moment when my fucking wine has wood chips in it! This is going to entirely stall our process for years. I don’t have that time anymore. I just signed loads of papers and am relying on our wines to pay for the Martens acquisition!”

They remain silent as the wine slaps off the concrete floor, pooling and traveling toward a nearby drain. The group exchanges glances and pleading looks with one another.

An anger bubbles in Villanelle as she watches Eve shift from rage to sadness and ultimately to defeat within a few short minutes.

It is physically painful to see this happen to the woman she cares for deeply. Even if Eve does not want to be with her, Villanelle wants her to be successful. She is far too talented not to share her gifts with the world.

As the sound of the falling wine mixes with the distinct noise of rain now drumming along the roof, Villanelle cannot take the quiet any longer, especially when everyone is clearly thinking the exact same thing.

Villanelle walks over to the tank, avoiding the wine puddled around it and closes the tap.

“This is ridiculous. We all know someone did this to sabotage Eve,” she says matter-of-factly.

She waits for someone to chime in or speak up. No one does and Eve storms out of the winery and into the rain in a huff.

The rest of the group looks around at one another while Villanelle folds her arms over her chest.

Properly annoyed with the continued silence, she throws her arms in the air.

“Fine. No one else will say it, so I will. This is obviously Niko’s doing somehow.” Villanelle points her finger at each of Eve’s four employees and shoots them a threatening look as she continues, “And if I find out that any of you had something to do with this, helped him in any way, no one will _ever_ find your body.”

Satisfied with her warning, Villanelle is out the door to catch up to Eve before she realises she is chasing her again.

She becomes acutely aware of an aching in her chest that is only intensifying with each step. Villanelle bounds down the slippery stone stairs and follows Eve toward the vineyard.

When she is within a few metres of the other woman, Villanelle stops.

“What the hell do you think you are doing,” she yells over the sound of raindrops clopping against the soaked ground. Her words catch in the cold January night.

Eve turns around to face her, the hood of soaked parka slipping off her head from the weight and the movement.

“I don’t know, okay,” Eve shouts back through the rain, “I’ve been trying so hard for years and all I have to show for it is a tank of ruined wine.”

“I know you are. It’s going to be alright.” Villanelle briefly folds her arms across her chest. 

The rain makes her hair cling to her face and she attempts to keep he hands from reaching for Eve. Villanelle is actually thankful for the downpour because she has to push her soaked locks away from her eyes.

“No – I can’t fix this. It messes up everything. Upcoming releases, funding to pay Carolyn, all of it is gone.”

“It doesn’t mess everything up. You will have to work even harder, that is all,” Villanelle tries to sound reassuring.

“Don’t you get it? Even if I do, Niko is going to keep doing things like this. The Polastri Group has too much power.” 

“So what should we do then,” Villanelle asks but can hear that her voice has too much pleading in it as she continues to push on. “We cannot let him win, Eve. There has to be a way to get through this.”

Villanelle can feel the ache threatening to burst through her chest as she plays back what she’s just said. As she feels the clear ‘we’ reverberate in hear ears and all the implications that come with it – implications Villanelle knows will never amount to anything.

 _“Ahhhh!_ Stop doing that!”

“Doing what,” Villanelle yells back.

“That,” Eve throws her hands up in Villanelle’s direction. “That thing you do where you can’t help yourself but act incredibly stupid and frightening and kind.”

_Of course._

Of course Eve would do this now, make it about whatever is clearly not going on between them, in the midst of her anger and a bone-chilling monsoon. Of course she would say some of the same things she said when she was drunk, but not the things that need to be said.

“I can’t help it. Believe me, I’ve tried and you’ve made it perfectly clear that I shouldn’t waste my time any longer.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Eve says as she wipes some raindrops from her brow in vain.

Eve starts to walk a few steps toward Villanelle but stops and hesitates. It wears on Villanelle and she shakes her head.

“No, you really aren’t. I am tired of doing this, Eve,” she says, gesturing between them. “You cannot keep showing up in front of me as if you’re interested then immediately push me away.”

 _“Oh my god! What do you want from me,”_ Eve yells again then turns her back to walk further into the vines once again.

Villanelle thinks it is pretty damn clear what she wants. She wants Eve to admit that there is something between them.

She needs Eve to admit her feelings.

“It’s fairly obvious what I want,” Villanelle says as she remains rooted in place. It takes far more will power to stay still than she would like. A part of her is constantly threatening to close the distance with Eve.

“Or what I wanted,” she says with her full voice. Villanelle is tapping into her frustration and hurt once again as her words grow louder in the darkness of the cold, wet night. “I wanted you to admit your feelings for me, that there is something between us. I know you’ve felt it but you are too afraid to try. You’re too afraid to accept that you could have something easy or good.”

Villanelle watches as Eve’s shoulders slump and she throws her soggy hood back on her head. She takes a breath and continues with the full weight of her disappointment leaking out.

“You are such a fucking masochist that you won’t let yourself have this.”

She remains in place, holding out for something else from the brunette, starts to allow herself once again to hope, if only for an instant.

Eve does not respond. She does not turn around. So Villanelle scoops up the final remaining bits of her constantly breaking heart and makes her way back to the house.

She gathers her things without so much as a goodbye to anyone and walks to her car.

Villanelle pulls out onto the pitch-black road and heads for home. She wills the tears to remain stuffed firmly behind her eyes though it burns to keep them in far more than it would to let them fall.

She quickly accesses the library of music on her phone after the Bluetooth connects the device to her car. Villanelle hits the shuffle button.

Immediately, the immortal and heartbreaking words of Roxette spill through her speakers. Villanelle clears her throat and starts to sing along.

_“It must have been love,_

_But it’s over now.”_

As the song comes to a close, Villanelle speeds toward an empty ‘T’ intersection. She briefly checks to make sure the road is clear and before she turns, she sees bright lights zip into her rearview.

The offending vehicle flashes its high beams repeatedly and for some reason, Villanelle keeps her foot on the brake.

As tyres briefly screech to a stop beside her, Villanelle glances over at the other car and the soaked driver behind the wheel.

For a second, her eyes play a trick on her and she lets herself believe that it’s Eve chasing after her.

Then she remembers – Eve does not do that. She will never do that.

The other car quickly pulls away and out of sight.

Villanelle lets music drown out her thoughts on the rest of the drive home.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Along the way, she stops for takeaway Thai food because she is heartbroken and that’s what one does when they are heartbroken.

When she reaches her door with purse and food in hand, she fishes out her keys and opens her door.

She is immediately taken aback to find lights on in her flat. Villanelle had driven to Kent hours earlier, long before the sun had set, and most definitely did not leave any lights turned on.

“Konstantin,” Villanelle calls as she moves up her stairs.

No one answers.

She walks across her open living space, scanning for any intruders.

That’s when she sees it.

There’s a bottle sitting out on her kitchen island. 

Villanelle cautiously steps closer with the full awareness that someone was in her flat while she was gone.

Konstantin, though he makes himself far too comfortable when he stops over, would never do such a thing. He would never leave a trail behind.

When she reaches the island, Villanelle’s eyes train on bottle with its white label and the wavy red ribbon flowing across it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave this with a bit of a cliffhanger...
> 
> Thank you as always for the lovely comments and feedback on this story. I'm so grateful for all the kind words.
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story picks up right where things left off, in Villanelle’s flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for not updating last week – life, you know?
> 
> Also, it’s been wonderful interacting with people about this fic and hearing different POV wine requests. I’m taking them all on board and will be trying to incorporate certain wines accordingly.
> 
> With that in mind, one of the things I've been asked is to throw some more Spanish wines in for the POVs and I'm happy to do so. I <3 Spanish wines.
> 
> Here is Eve's POV wine this week - Priorat - these wines are mouth-filling, relatively high alcohol and come with a serious cassis, plum, licorice and violet punch. They are big, bold wines and for once, Eve is trying to go big and bold...maybe...

# Chapter 13: The Cold Press

Eve waits inside the chic as shit bathroom and listens as Villanelle drops her bags.

“Hello,” she hears Villanelle’s muffled voice call out.

She tries to steady her breath and calm her mind long enough to come up with a semi-coherent explanation for what she’s doing breaking into Villanelle’s flat.

The only _actual_ explanation is the obvious one.

After the younger woman stormed away, Eve had returned to her house where she was immediately met with a combination of pointed and befuddled looks from her friends. The scent of wet, half-frozen earth still clung to her senses when she was confronted by the people who know her best.

It took Elena’s best efforts to shake her out of it and finally break through the storm of rage and fear coursing through her body.

_“Listen, babe. We love you. But you’ve been a real prick and we all know it,”_ she said.

Eve searched each of her friends’ faces in turn – Bill nodded in agreement while Kenny looked away to avoid her gaze.

That was when it hit her, when she really, _truly_ let herself fully accept that she had feelings for Villanelle.

It was also the moment that Eve realised she had fucked things up. She knew that she may not have another chance and that, much like her effort to revitalise her career, Eve had to take a risk and jump in for Villanelle.

True to form, her friends assured her that they would take care of the tanks and salvage what they could with any of the reserve wine after the incident. They had always been there to help pick her up and bring The Bridge back from the brink, this time would be no different. 

Eve knows that.

Before Elena pushed her out the door, Eve ran back down to her cellar to grab the one thing she hoped could make things right.

She dusted off one of her remaining bottles of her Champagne, hopped in her car and floored the gas pedal to race after Villanelle. She didn’t bother stopping for other motorists and haphazardly rushed to London.

Now, she’s here and Eve has no idea what to do next. There is no plan, she doesn’t know what to say and has no clue how the blonde will react when she steps out into the room.

Eve rests one hand along the cool tile along the wall and tries to force her other hand to pull the door open.

She hears the faint scrape of the heavy gauged bottle sliding across Villanelle’s kitchen island.

_Go out there._

_Now._

_Do it._

“Eve,” Villanelle asks.

There’s no way to tell if there is anything like hopefulness in her voice. The large open space and bathroom door stand between them.

Eve wants there to be a reason to hope. But now she doubts whether she has any more time or any chances remaining.

She’s no good at this, _feelings,_ to know where she now may stand.

Eve thinks that if she were in Villanelle’s position, she wouldn’t giver herself another chance. 

She knows she wouldn’t. She certainly wouldn’t give another chance to someone who broke into her flat like an idiot.

_Fuck._

_This is so fucking stupid._

With one more deep inhale and exhale and one last attempt to give herself some confidence, she opens the door and walks out into the living space.

“Hi,” Eve says.

Villanelle stands rooted to her spot in the kitchen with an unreadable expression on her face and the bottle of Red Ribbon Champagne in her hand.

“I – uhm… yeah, hi,” Eve uselessly tries again.

She sees Villanelle narrow her gaze and hears her heart pumping loudly in her own ears.

Eve attempts to slowly step forward and close some of the gulf of a distance between them.

She stops when Villanelle puts her palm up to her. Eve takes a large, silent gulp.

Villanelle sets the bottle back down on the island and folds her arms across her chest.

“What the hell are you doing here,” she asks. Hazel eyes are locked on Eve’s in that way that cuts through her.

It’s never felt quite so chilling.

With panic now coursing through her veins, she can feel the room start to close in on her somehow and Eve is suddenly claustrophobic. 

“We didn’t finish the interview.” Eve gives her a half smile. She mentally berates herself for not admitting the real reason that she’s turned up in Villanelle’s flat from the start.

It’s the wrong thing to say and she knows it immediately.

“The interview,” Villanelle repeats with a purse of her lips and a slow nod of her forehead. Her voice is full of doubt and annoyance.

“Yeah. I… wanted to make sure we finished it.”

Villanelle raises both eyebrows and gives another slow, single nod.

_This is useless._

Eve thinks again about how terrible she is at this – talking and feelings and emotions. She doesn’t know how to convey what it is that made her drive after Villanelle beyond the gesture of physically appearing with wine in tow.

_I care about you._

_I do want to be with you._

The admissions cling to her throat and she wants to claw at them so that they might finally be released.

They remain rooted in place for what feels like hours, the space continues to constrict Eve as she struggles to find any sliver of an apology or explanation.

Finally, Villanelle reaches across her island for a plastic bag and pulls out a series of takeaway containers.

She opens one and sticks chopsticks into it while Eve continues to stand perfectly still. 

Villanelle’s eyes stay on her the entire time, piercing and burning.

Eve watches her shovel down a large mouthful of noodles as she tries to force herself to push what she wants to say out of her mouth. Instead, she takes a few steps forward again.

When Villanelle sees her movement, she shakes her head. 

“Stay there,” Villanelle says.

Eve does stop, now a few feet from the bed. 

She’s still so far away from Villanelle and it reflexively makes frustration bubble up inside her while Eve stands in painful silence. She wants to keep it down and remember that she is here to make things right, that she’s here to try.

It’s the wrong emotion to have now, she knows that much. Eve simply can’t help herself though.

She knows that whatever chance she has is slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand she can’t catch. The longer she stands so far away, the longer she continues to hold the truth in, the fewer grains remain.

Villanelle turns her attention back to her food, slurping up more noodles.

Unable to contain the frustration, Eve lets a loud huff escape her lips.

Hazel eyes snap back up to her and Villanelle quirks an eyebrow as if to challenge Eve.

“What the hell,” Eve finally asks as she throws her arms in the air and moves closer to the kitchen.

Villanelle sets her food on her island and presses her palms into it.

“You are the person who broke into my home, Eve. I will deal with you later. Right now, I’m eating.”

“I came here to talk to you,” Eve says. It comes out sounding much closer to a shout than the confession she had intended to make when she set out for London.

She internally cringes when she hears it.

_This couldn’t be going any worse._

“About the interview,” Villanelle says flippantly. “I know. You’ve told me.”

“Yes, I am… But I…”

Villanelle’s phone starts to buzz on the kitchen counter. She turns, picks it up, and swipes her finger across the screen to unlock it.

“Konstantin,” she says.

Eve is certain about what Konstantin is going to say and uselessly prays that he won’t tell Villanelle how frantic she was when she called. Eve nearly threatened him when she first told him what she wanted to do. It hadn’t worked. It took a stressful round of bartering until Konstantin ultimately agreed to meet Eve and let her into the flat.

“Yes, she is still here,” Villanelle says into the phone.

When the blonde narrows her gaze to Eve again, she knows she’s been caught and makes a mental note to never speak to Konstantin again.

“Ah. Of course you did.”

Eve tries to listen in for anything that may sound like she has a chance, anything that sounds like Villanelle understands the truth. She’s too far away to pick up on the other side of the call.

“Yeah, I will later,” Villanelle says with a roll of her eyes.

Eve wonders how much time she has before she’s kicked out and sent back home if Villanelle is planning to do other things with her night.

“No. We will finish the interview when I’m ready.” Villanelle’s voice is becoming increasingly firm and annoyed.

Eve quickly looks over her shoulder, considering that being kicked out would be better than the current state of things and debates the idea of turning and running out the door. She does her best to push the thoughts out of her head.

She’s here to tell Villanelle about her feelings.

_Ugh._

_Feelings._

“Goodbye Konstantin.”

Villanelle ends the call and sets her phone down and stares at Eve once more.

“You had Konstantin let you in,” she asks.

Eve shrugs her shoulders.

“Yeah. I knew he would.”

Villanelle hums to herself and goes back to her food. After a few bites, she looks back up to Eve.

“What did you have to do?”

Eve thinks she hears the slightest crack in Villanelle’s resolve, maybe even sees her shoulders relax the smallest bit, and now she fully enters the kitchen space. She rests her hands on the opposite side of the island as Villanelle leans back against her counter, crossing her left leg over her right at her ankles.

“I promised him that I’d never do another interview with any other magazine,” Eve says.

Villanelle shakes her head.

“Eve, are you insane?”

“Probably,” Eve says with a lopsided smile. “I needed to see you.”

She thinks that her words sound honest. She thinks it’s the right thing to say.

_It’s so hard to tell._

“You know he will collect on your deal.”

“I know. I’m okay with that,” Eve tries to assure them both with her words.

The last thing she will want to do is sit through additional interviews with anyone from The Twelve, especially with Villanelle, if they aren’t able to work things out.

That is the obvious downside to the arrangement with Konstantin. A very significant downside.

She does not want to think about that very likely outcome.

When Villanelle finishes her noodles, she tosses the container and chopsticks in the bin and turns around, picking out two wine glasses in a quick, fluid motion that Eve is sure she would have missed if she wasn’t watching so intently.

Villanelle sets one glass in front of Eve, the other for herself. She grabs the Champagne that’s been sitting on the island, an observer to their entirely awkward situation.

“Did you take this from my EuroCave?”

“No,” Eve answers, “I brought it with me. It’s actually one of my last bottles.”

“Is this a bribe,” Villanelle asks as she peels the foil off the neck of the bottle. “Are you trying to use my fondness for your wine against me?”

“No.”

Eve steels her gaze so that Villanelle knows she’s serious.

Then she plays back Villanelle’s first question in her head.

_“Did you take this from my EuroCave?”_

_She still has my Champagne._

It almost, _almost,_ is enough to make her want to hope.

Villanelle untwists the muselet and eases the cork out of the bottle with the familiar _pop_ that’s part of the background music in both their lives.

“Wait – you still have some,” Eve asks.

“Still have what,” Villanelle counters with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“More bottles of my Champagne.”

“Yes,” Villanelle says as she pours the liquid into each glass, “I do.”

“Oh. I didn’t think anyone else would have kept it this long.”

She lets herself smile at the idea that Villanelle has held onto something she created for this long. Whatever small victory it is, she desperately wants it be the first step to mending what’s collapsed between them and what Eve’s done to make it so.

After the wine is served, Eve raises her glass toward Villanelle.

“Cheers…” she says hesitantly.

She doesn’t know what reason they would have to toast to anything. 

_To the end of this thing…_

She takes in a mouthful of air to force down the thought. It’s stupid to toast at all.

Villanelle clinks her glass with Eve’s.

“Cheers.”

They stand in silence for a few more minutes while they each drink their wine.

It’s been years since Eve tasted a bottle of her Red Ribbon Champagne. The last time she did, it was with her dad. It was the last wine she was able to share with him.

After he died, she couldn’t bring herself to drink another bottle – until now.

Now she’s drinking it with Villanelle and can only think about how she does not want this to also be the last bottle of wine they ever share.

“What do you think,” Eve asks in an effort to distract herself from the idea of the end.

“About?”

“The wine – clearly.”

“You already know how I feel about it, Eve,” Villanelle says with a look of disappointment now on her face.

Eve sets her glass down and sighs as she tightly grasps onto her last dwindling effort to draw Villanelle back to her.

Wine is a language that they both speak so clearly. It’s the only form of expression Eve has ever known.

She does it so much better than she does feelings. Few people have understood that about her.

Villanelle is one of those people. Eve knows that much.

“Will you tell me what you taste?” 

Villanelle fights to keep her face neutral for half a second and then allows herself to smirk at Eve.

“Not like that,” Eve says with a roll of her eyes. ”I’d like your notes.”

She reaches across the island for Villanelle’s free hand then stops herself before skin touches skin. Nonetheless, she feels a ripple of energy coursing through her body at the prospect of listening to what Villanelle has to say about the Champagne, her Champagne.

Villanelle spins her glass between her fingers and watches the swirling liquid.

“I don’t think so. I am off duty now,” Villanelle says with a mocking rhythm in her tone.

And just like that, anxiety pulses through Eve and nearly drowns out the last vestiges of her hope.

She downs the rest of her glass in one quick gulp to quell it.

“Thirsty,” Villanelle asks.

“Something like that.”

Villanelle takes another sip of her wine then slowly pushes it away from her, only to immediately slide it back. 

Eve wonders if Villanelle is fighting some type of internal battle with the temptation she feels for her wine. If that is the case, she very selfishly wants indulgence to win out.

She decides to try and tip things in her favor. It’s the only card she has left to play – honesty.

“You know, I never opened any of my bottles with Niko,” she says as she reaches across the island and pours herself another glass.

Villanelle tips her head, interest clearly piqued.

“Why not?”

_Got her._

“He never really understood it. I did drink some with him once. When he and I were first dating, he visited the domaine and we tasted some of it alongside the wines I’d made for Carolyn.”

Eve thinks back to that afternoon with Niko in the cellar, she foolishly tried to teach him about Champagne and the nuance of terroir. They had spent half the day walking through different parts of Ambonnay and Eve pointed out the subtle differences in slope, vineyard density, and the especially high percentage of chalk present in the soil. Niko followed along and paid attention some of the time at best. _“I’ll leave these matters to the professionals,”_ was his usual, default answer in those days.

Later, when they tasted through different Champagnes, Eve tried to explain how those same things about the vineyards had impacted each of the wines she poured, including her own. _“I know what I like, Eve,”_ he said to her as he dumped out the taste of her Red Ribbon, even though he drained the rest of the wines in the flight.

She feels a dull pain in her chest at the memory.

_He really never got it._

And then she thinks back to the events of the day, of the ruined wine sitting in her tank, and the dull pain burns alight and becomes a roaring flame of anger.

“I hate the moustache.”

The words cut through the haze of Eve’s thoughts and bring her back to the present.

“What,” Eve asks with a smile.

“The moustache. I hate him,” Villanelle says as she pours another glass for each of them. “He ruined your wines.”

“More than once,” Eve points out.

“Yes, what do you plan to do about that?”

They both know Niko somehow, some way, had something to do with what happened to the reserve wine. No one else would do that to her.

Eve takes a deep breath to slow the rage that begins burning in her chest when she thinks about it.

She reminds herself of the actual task at hand.

_Trying to explain._

“Honestly? Nothing – I’m just trying to get by the best we can,” Eve says. She doesn’t have any other solution and there is so much she needs to do if she is going to manage to follow through with her purchase of Domaine Martens.

“Exacting revenge would be far more satisfying, Eve.”

“I’m sure it would,” she admits.

Eve allows herself to think about how it might feel to get back at Niko, and to not only return to, but exceed her former glory. It tastes as sweet as the caramel and almond of a perfect vintage Port.

“If you ever gave in to those things, maybe your life wouldn’t be so complicated,” Villanelle says.

“You’re probably right.”

“So why don’t you?”

Eve knows Villanelle’s question is about more than Niko. She knows this is about them too.

“I’m just trying to make honest wines… all the rest – I don’t know. I’m not very good at it.”

They are the truest words that Eve can force out of her mouth. She wants to say more – there are so many things that she needs to explain to Villanelle.

It’s why she drove an hour in the rain, at far too dangerous a speed. But she cannot bring her brain and her heart to make the connection and speak any of it.

“That is a terrible answer,” Villanelle says.

“I know.”

She takes a sip of wine to collect herself. 

Eve knows what she needs to say.

_Explain._

_Just fucking say it._

“Villanelle, I –”

She feels her own phone vibrating in her pocket and reaches in to check it.

It’s Bill.

Her heart sinks instantly.

Eve has to answer.

“I’m sorry. I need to take this,” Eve says with her most apologetic look possible.

“Of course.”

Villanelle picks up her wine and walks across the space toward her desk while Eve accepts the call.

“Hello.”

“Eve. You need to get back here,” Bill says. 

She can hear the apprehension in his voice despite his best attempts to maintain an even tone.

“What’s wrong,” she asks while concern immediately overtakes every part of her being.

“It’s best that you come back.”

Eve is already fumbling through her other pocket for her keys and heading for the stairs.

Fuck.

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

She ends the call and stops in front of Villanelle.

“I’m sorry,” Eve says, “I have to go.”

Villanelle gives her a faux smile.

“I know.”

Suddenly, it’s like the bottom of the floor drops out from under Eve and she feels like she’s hopelessly being sucked away from Villanelle, away from her chance.

“I really do mean it,” she insists.

The bloody timing of it all, it’s never right. 

At least she came and she tried.

_Sort of tried._

She reaches the top step and turns back once more.

“Are you going to Prowein,” Eve asks.

It’s the only miserable thing she may have left. Everyone goes to the event, surely Villanelle will be going.

“I think so,” Villanelle says. “But I may miss the first day.”

Eve gives her a faint smile.

“Maybe we can finish this in Germany then?”

“Right – the interview.” Villanelle rolls her eyes when she says it.

“No. Talking,” Eve says firmly.

Before Villanelle can say anything else, before Eve can stomach another painful minute of uncertainty, she clamours down the stairs and out the door into the night.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She gets back to The Bridge fairly quickly, despite the nagging thoughts in the back of her mind constantly telling her to turn her car around and go back to Villanelle.

When Eve pushes open the door, she forces out everything else from the day and focuses on what needs to be done to fix her winery, yet again.

She finds Bill and Kenny waiting for her on the sofa, as she knew she would.

“Well,” she asks.

“It’s the CCTV,” Kenny says as he hands her his tablet. He already has a video cued up. “This is from last week. The day you met with Hugo.”

Eve feels the weight of it, like a boulder settling in her chest as she thinks of the prospect that they had actually caught Niko on video. 

He presses play and she watches intently. 

After a few painful moments of nothing changing on the video, the same exact shot of the same tanks and equipment in the exact same positions, she turns and looks at both men.

“Just keep watching,” Kenny tells her.

Then it happens.

The screen goes black, then fuzzy, the way it used to when a VHS tape was finished.

“What the fuck,” Eve asks.

“It’s the only video from the last six months that’s done that,” Kenny says.

“This can’t be coincidence,” Bill chimes in.

_No._

_It’s most definitely not a coincidence._

“Who could have done this,” she asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve started running some programs to find out how the video was destroyed,” Kenny assures her.

Bill takes her hands and makes a promise, “We will get to the bottom of this, Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for following along with this fic and taking some enjoyment from this stupidly niche story. I cannot begin to express how lovely it is to see the comments here and on twitter.
> 
> Please let me know what you think - especially if you have some wines you want me to try and work in, that has been a fun challenge to add to this mix.
> 
> (I know I still have to finish my KE Week mini fic, but damn, didn't realize how much effort it would take to try to pump out four chapters in a week. So dumb on my part).


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion at a wine expo… and an offer that someone can’t refuse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these last few chapters have been super angsty, the last one in particular. I also know everyone is rather miffed at Eve for the way she’s acting, but I think it’s pretty true to form for these two. What fun would it be if their journey were easy?
> 
> Also, I’m sorry I haven’t been updating this weekly lately. I want it to be right and feel right, so when my heart and head aren’t into writing, I haven’t been. I am going to keep plugging along with this fic, I promise.
> 
> This week’s POV wine for V is admittedly a bit self-indulgent and has got to be from California with all of the fires happening in Napa and Sonoma. One of my personal favorites is Chardonnay produced from Haynes Vineyard in Napa Valley. A number of different producers make wine from Haynes, but these Chardonnay vines are some of the oldest in all of Napa and when you taste a Chardonnay from Haynes, I swear to you that you can taste sunshine. V has been through it in this fic, and the sun may finally be rising for her.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 14: Maceration

Villanelle sits in the same Parisian café that she does at this time each year. She is celebrating her birthday in her favorite city.

_Alone._

_Again._

She thought that the people watching and couture shopping would change things.

_It hasn’t._

Unlike prior birthdays, Villanelle will not being going out after dinner to pick someone to bring them back to her room.

These are some of the painful few in the long list of things that now seem ruined, a world that is a little less bright this year. It’s all Eve’s doing, there is no mistaking that. Villanelle knows it and has for months.

Nothing has been quite as enjoyable since she last saw Eve – since they stood in her flat and dangled on the edge of breaking through. She was so sure that Eve was finally going to let it all go and give in to what she so clearly had wanted.

No one drives an hour in the rain to hand deliver a bottle of wine for someone, not unless it means something.

But it is Eve, and she does these things, as Villanelle has come to learn. They are absurdly frustrating things that make her heart leap from her chest, only to be pulverized moments later.

Villanelle had naively allowed herself to hope after Christmas that maybe she would spend her birthday with Eve this year. She had imagined how much more vibrant that would make the mid-March day.

Villanelle did try to shake herself out of it during her time in Paris thus far. She even resorted to visiting a museum – it was _so boring!_

Everything is cold and grey and the sounds of bustling streets grate at her ears.

Someone beside her lights up a cigarette and stench carries over to her table. Villanelle attempts to wave the smoke away in futility. She slides out of her caned chair as the legs struggle against the concrete of the covered outdoor seating area and grabs her shopping bags from the unoccupied seat next to her.

Villanelle has endured more than enough for one day, the insolence of smoke fumes are something she cannot stand for on her birthday.

As she begins to walk down the street, view of the Eiffel Tower straight ahead, Villanelle’s phone rings.

She does not need to pull it from her pocket to know exactly who it is that’s calling her today.

Konstantin had been calling her for days to set her travel arrangements to Dusseldorf for Prowein after she slogged off to Paris earlier than normal.

If Villanelle was truly being honest, she would admit that she was letting her heartache leak into her work, or rather, she was letting it keep her from getting back to work.

Thankfully, Villanelle is not one to dwell on such introspective thoughts and is too tired to care that she’s doing it.

She reaches into her coat to grab her phone and sends the call to voicemail.

Within seconds, Konstantin calls back.

Villanelle ignores this call as well.

She pushes her phone back down into her pocket as deep as it will go in some sort of naïve attempt to make Konstantin’s annoying efforts stop.

He finally seems to take her not-so-subtle hints that she does not want to talk and quits trying.

After a few minutes, Villanelle finds herself back at her hotel and taps the keycard against the locking mechanism for the door to her room.

She steps inside and tosses her bags on the floor haphazardly.

When she rounds the corner of her suite toward the bedroom, she’s startled by the sight of thick legs covered in black pants and a mound of a belly rising and falling on her bed.

“How did you get in here,” she asks with a huff.

Konstantin picks his head up slightly, just catching her eyes, then plops his head back onto the bed.

“I told them you were my daughter and I was here to surprise you for your birthday.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes then walks to the top of the bed and pulls a pillow away. She waits a few beats then proceeds to pummel him with the pillow.

After a few good wacks, Konstantin covers his head.

“Alright, alright,” he yells. “You weren’t answering my calls.”

Villanelle stops her attack for a moment.

“Yes, that was intentional.”

“I was worried about you,” Konstantin offers.

Villanelle lifts the pillow over her head and hits him one more time, square in the stomach, for good measure. 

“No you’re not,” she says flatly. Villanelle releases her grip on the pillow, leaving it flat across him. “This is about business.”

“Yes. But I am still worried.”

Konstantin tosses the pillow on the floor and sits up, resting his weight on his hands as they dip down into the soft mattress.

He fixes her with a knowing look before he immediately softens, greying features rolling into a sad smile.

Villanelle averts her eyes in fear that her own features will betray her. She lets out a half-hearted chuckle.

“Are you here to collect me,” she asks.

“Yes,” Konstantin replies apologetically. It almost sounds sincere.

Resigning herself to her fate with a sigh, Villanelle says, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

They both make their way to the door and as she opens it, Konstantin puts a hand on her shoulder. The weight of his hand is oddly comforting and warm.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “We should enjoy Paris tonight.”

Villanelle turns back to face him, eyes lighting up with the first glint of happiness in weeks.

“I will even buy you a macaron,” Konstantin announces, “for your birthday.”

With a bright smile, Villanelle leads them out the door.

“Hmm. I am thinking you should buy me a tower of them instead. It is the least you can do for breaking into my room.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle saunters along the seemingly never-ending hallway lined with tables and booths, each belonging to a different winery and each teeming with bottles on offer to taste.

She is predictably in the sparkling wine section at Konstantin’s orders. Villanelle did everything she could to protest, but as The Twelve’s correspondent for sparkling wines, she had little choice in the matter.

This is her job.

No matter how desperate she may be to avoid even the smallest glimpse of Eve, it is inevitable that she’s here in the same space as the woman who has broken her heart time and time again.

Even so, Villanelle does her best to stay as far away from English sparkling wines as she can for as long as she can.

Upon arrival in Dusseldorf, she found a map for the venue that detailed the location for each winery and Villanelle made a rare, concerted effort to meticulously study it. She committed the exact spot where The Bridge would be stationed to memory.

She slows her pace now, as she knows that she will come upon Eve’s table soon enough. Villanelle is careful and calculating. She steps up to a nearby table and asks for a taste of some mediocre wine from a winery that is not worth her time or effort.

She uses the moment to peer over at The Bridge’s setup, eyes scanning for unmistakable curls. Villanelle spots Eve deep in conversation with someone as she pours one of her bottles. Her gaze narrows as she zeroes in on Eve’s interaction with the man at the table, laughing with him. 

Villanelle lifts the nameless wine to her lips and is immediately put off by the sickeningly sweet taste as it touches her tongue virtually in tandem with what looks to be clear flirting on Eve’s part. Villanelle spits the dreadful wine unceremoniously into the spit bucket as she continues to glare at Eve.

“Would you like to try our latest vintage,” the annoying nobody invading her private moment asks.

She sees Eve make her way around the table and follow the man down the hall, then out a side door of the venue.

“No,” Villanelle answers.

Seizing the opportunity to make her way past the table that once stood as an obstacle, she moves smoothly and quickly through the slightly swaying bodies that pack the corridor.

When she is nearly even with Eve’s table, Villanelle feels the inexplicable urge to toward Eve’s wines. She tries to muster every once of self-control she has to keep walking, to pick up her pace, to find another winery and other wines to inspect.

Much to her disappointment and despite herself, the deepest, most honest fibres of her being drag her to The Bridge’s table.

She is powerless to stop it. The pull to Eve and her wines remains inevitable.

_It will always be there._

No matter how hard Villanelle tries to rid herself of it, the aromas, the taste, the experience of Eve and her wines are cemented into her heart.

Wounds from her battered and broken soul barely beginning to scab over, Villanelle allows herself to be pulled back into the torment, if only for a single, fleeting moment. She slinks across the ridiculously patterned carpet, virtually on autopilot, the gravity of Eve’s table beckoning her closer.

“Villanelle,” Bill calls over to her.

With a faux sweet smile, Villanelle finds her bravado and strolls the rest of the way over to table.

“Hello, Bill,” she says.

“How are you,” he asks with a face that holds a kind, knowing look. 

It makes her cringe – knowing that he knows, that he can see it all and sense what she has endured.

“Never been better,” Villanelle answers.

_Bullshit._

“Good,” he spares her. “Glad to hear it. Would you like to try any of our wines today?”

She scans the various bottles on offer, a few of Eve’s other employees stationed at different points across the table to pour the wines set before them.

“Yes, Tiger. I’d like to taste the Chardonnay,” Villanelle says.

“It’s Bear, actually,” he mumbles.

“Whatever,” she says with a wave of her hand. “The Chardonnay.”

He pours her a taste of the sparkling wine she wants and slides the glass across the table in her direction.

Villanelle thinks that he looks far too meek for a name like Bear.

_Mouse is more accurate._

She swirls the perfect golden liquid around in her glass then brings it to her nose. The perfume of honey and white flowers, with hints of waxy lemon rind invade her nostrils. It’s beautifully delicate yet inviting.

_Damn her._

Villanelle truly cannot help herself – self-control is not a trait she possesses. She is far too used to having what she wants. In this moment, she wants Eve’s wine.

She is salivating for it.

It makes her want Eve again too. The woman with such a rare ability to take something so difficult, so trying, and turn it into something special and beautiful, a thing to be savored and remembered.

_What an asshole._

“What do you think,” Bill asks with wide eyes.

She likes Bill, but he seems to be far too perceptive. It feels like his question is about much more than just an impressive sparkling wine.

He is asking what she still thinks about his boss.

Villanelle wants to play it coy, defaulting to her protective setting. She is still licking her wounds and no one else needs to know about it, least of all Eve or her employees.

“Meh. Eve can do better,” she says with a pop of her shoulder.

It’s a half-truth at best. Eve can make better wines, Villanelle has tasted the liquid magic before. However, this is nothing short of stunning considering all the effort she knows that it took for Eve and her team to get this sparkling wine into this bottle. It really is a special achievement under such trying circumstances and sabotage.

“Yes,” Bill says, “I believe she can.”

Villanelle quirks her eyebrow at him then takes another sip to finish the taste of wine.

It really is lovely.

Villanelle hates how much she enjoys it. She hates how it makes her think of what could have been. The brilliantly mineral, lingering aftertaste claws at her throat like she’s just drowned in a reality of the memories she will never have.

Bill shuffles around the table to get closer to her.

With his voice quiet so only Villanelle can hear it, he says, “I know you’re perfectly capable of making your own decisions… but… Eve is finally finished being a bloody fool. She’s been completely gutted since you left that day.”

Villanelle feels an overwhelming jolt in her chest as her heart kick-starts for the first time in weeks. She wants Bill to be right about this. She wants to have the smallest bit of hope.

Hope, however, has not gotten her very far with Eve Polastri.

As Villanelle reminds herself, Eve takes her hope each time, throws it in the press and stomps all the juice out if it until there is nothing left.

It’s far too painful to go down that road again, she tells herself, and Villanelle doubts this time would actually be any different than the others.

Villanelle sighs and forces her heart from racing off down the path she knows in her head she cannot follow.

“I will keep that in mind.”

He gives her a wink and a soft smile.

“I hope you do.”

She slides her glass back onto the table and pulls back into the sea of bodies before this can last any longer, before she runs into Eve.

Villanelle does a quarter turn and quickly disappears down the hall.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In need of a distraction, Villanelle follows the hideously patterned maroon and green carpet and wanders to the Bordeaux section of the expo. Konstantin usually travels between these producers and those of Burgundy, reserving the very best the wine world has to offer for himself.

Villanelle needs this today after she weakly allowed herself to fall into the Eve Polastri trap and stop at The Bridge’s table. She needs it even more as Bill’s words continue to play on an endless loop in her head.

She aimlessly works her way through a few tables, including some of the famous First Growth chateaus. Nothing else in the world of wine is quite as decadent or plush as those five Premier Cru First Growth Bordeaux – an entire classification so exclusive that it is virtually unchanged since 1855. Surely, Villanelle thinks, this will get her out of her nearly unshakable depression.

Villanelle tastes some of the blends at a handful of other tables then finds her way to one of the most popular stops at the entire expo.

A crowd at least five people deep stands shoulder-to-shoulder each waiting for a taste of Chateau Hélène. The proprietor stands coolly behind her table with her assistant, pouring her wines and making casual conversation.

Villanelle is instantly enamoured by her. She knows it is rare to catch the mysterious woman in the flesh, particularly at an event that attracts some of the dregs in the wine business. The enigma is part of the package for Chateau Hélène – the very reason why the wine is sought out by the most posh of collectors as a true status symbol.

She is pleased when she catches Hélène’s eyes lock on her and beckoning her forward, the disappointment and sadness of a few minutes ago momentarily drifting to the back of her mind.

Villanelle puts on her most seductive, nonchalant expression, unbuttons her double-breasted blazer and slides her hands into the pockets of her trousers. She effortlessly navigates her way through the mass of people hovering around the table, never breaking eye contact with Hélène.

“Ah. The famous Villanelle,” the woman says.

Villanelle picks up a glass from the table and spins the stem between her fingers. She takes a moment to look the older woman over, impressed by the navy blue designer trousers, crisp white button-up shirt and striking red pumps.

“Hélène,” Villanelle replies.

“I am so pleased that you decided to grace us with your presence. What are you doing so far from your bubbles?”

Villanelle feigns a bored sigh.

“I was hoping to try something a little different today. Sadly, nothing has been of interest yet.”

“Well,” Hélène says as she reaches out with a bottle in hand and starts pouring, “I am certain you are going to find something here that will.”

“Perhaps I will.”

Villanelle lifts the glass toward her face, takes in a brief inhale of black currant and worn leather, then lifts the glass to her lips. She never breaks eye contact with Hélène.

_This is a wonderful wine._

It is vastly different from Eve’s wines stylistically, and yet it is nearly as nuanced. There is only the slightest hint of a toasted note from oak that betrays the taste and takes it down just a peg from truly great.

Villanelle plays her best, uninterested part. Now is not the time to appear remotely intrigued in such a wine, not to a woman like this.

She oozes class and style.

Sometimes a woman just needs more of that in her life – less stray curls, parkas, and dirt under finger nails, more pressed trousers, ascots and patent leather pumps.

_A welcome distraction._

Hélène narrows her gaze to study Villanelle’s reaction.

Villanelle hums and shrugs her shoulder as she drops the glass from her lips.

“Good,” she says, “hmm… maybe a little too heavy-handed though.”

It’s another half-truth, something Villanelle does so very well.

Though heavy-handed is not the right word, it does lack some of the effortlessness that the blonde craves in truly exceptional wines. This blend is trying to be great. Those that truly are don’t need to try, they just are.

_Like Eve’s wines._

She pushes the thought back down as soon as it rushes forward in her head. This is not about Eve anymore. That chapter, however abrupt, is over now. Villanelle is determined for it to be over now.

“Heavy-handed,” Hélène asks with a small smirk pulling at one corner of her lips.

“Yes. It is missing a little something below the surface.”

Hélène’s smirk becomes more pronounced, almost devious.

“You have an exceptional palate, Villanelle. So few people understand that,” she says with a wave of her hand. “It is easy for most to only perceive what is right in front of them.”

Villanelle sets her glass on the table as pride swells within her. She is never lacking in confidence and she is exceptional at her job, but that doesn’t mean Villanelle won’t relish being told as much by a talented and beautiful woman.

“I am very good at what I do. The best actually.”

“I know,” Hélène says, “that is why I want you to try this.” 

She reaches under the table and pulls out a different bottle, one that is not being shared with other guests.

Villanelle studies the label as the bottle is rotated toward her. It is not one that she’s ever seen before but she has heard talk of it over the years. A special bottle made by Chateau Hélène in only the best of years with a unique blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Cabernet Franc with splashes of Malbec and Petit Verdot. The actual blend was, much like Hélène herself, a total mystery.

Hélène pours the new wine into her glass and slides it back over to Villanelle.

“To truly appreciate the beauty of these things,” Hélène says, “requires a rare kind of talent, one which you clearly have.”

Villanelle spins the wine quickly on the table in a counterclockwise motion then brings it to her nose.

The bouquet of the nose is extraordinary – black currant with olive tapenade, leather and sweet notes of tobacco overwhelm her. She lifts the inky liquid to her lips, swirls it in her mouth and over her tongue and swallows. The bite from tannins lingers along with the leather and graphite along the back of her throat.

_God, it’s sexy._

This is everything a Left Bank Bordeaux blend should be and more. Villanelle feels the immediate spark of infatuation and addiction to it.

As she is about to speak, her words catch in her throat when a familiar flash of dark curls come into her periphery.

“Villanelle,” Eve says as she forces her way through a few men who are lingering around the table.

“Eve.”

“I didn’t expect to see you over here.”

“Sparkling wine is far from my only interest.”

Hélène remains quiet for a moment, studying the two women intently.

Eve finally picks a fresh glass from the table and raises it in Hélène’s direction. Rather than pour the bottle she still holds in her hand, she slips it back under the table and ignores Eve.

Then Hélène turns her attention back to Villanelle as the blonde does the same.

“This is a beautiful wine,” she says. “It’s probably the best Bordeaux I’ve tasted in years. What you’ve achieved here is so delicately balanced and speaks to the terroir in a way that is quite unique for Margaux.”

The assessment is honest this time. She chances another glance over at Eve and she watches as her words land like some sort of knockout blow.

“It takes remarkable people to appreciate this wine properly,” Hélène says with a flick of her wrist. “I have a proposition for you, Villanelle.”

Eve rolls her eyes hard at the other woman and Villanelle keenly observes the sight.

The blonde takes another sip from her glass.

It is something verging on ethereal. In an instant, a pang of betrayal hits her deep within her chest when she catches Eve’s deep brown eyes now trained on her. It seems so wrong to have a sudden attachment to a wine. 

It’s only ever happened once before.

A blistering rush of cold shocks her system and trickles down her spine as Villanelle considers the implications.

She swallows the feelings along with her wine.

“What is that,” Villanelle asks.

“I would like you to come work for me,” Hélène says. 

The job offer catches Villanelle completely unawares. She senses Eve’s eyes boring into her now as both women wait for her response.

“I don’t know. I am very happy with The Twelve. What could you give me?”

“I will give you everything you want,” Hélène answers as she reaches out and runs her manicured nails along Villanelle’s tie.

Eve scoffs at the scene.

Villanelle turns her body to face Eve.

“Is there a problem,” she asks with a satisfied smile pulling at her lips.

“No,” Eve says flatly.

Hélène reaches hand back out, this time holding her business card.

“I will think about it,” Villanelle says as plucks the business card from the winemaker’s fingers and slides it into her pocket.

“You should. This offer will not last forever,” Hélène tells her.

Before she can say anything else, she feels the immediate emptiness at her right side and turns her head to scan the crowd for Eve.

“Thank you. I will be in touch,” Villanelle says as she spins and walks after Eve.

She doesn’t stop to think what she is doing or why as her body puts her instinctively in motion. In a few quick strides, she reaches Eve.

“What was that,” she asks.

“What was what,” Eve fires back.

“That shit,” Villanelle says, pointing to the Chateau Hélène table.

“Ugh… you sounded absolutely ridiculous. Like you’d ever leave The Twelve and Konstantin for – for that.”

A realisation sparks in Villanelle’s brain as the words filter through the muffled tones of the crowd around them. It makes her stand a little straighter. She slides her hands into the pockets of her trousers and lets her lips quirk into a clear shit-eating smirk.

“Eve, are you jealous again?”

The brunette rolls her eyes once more.

“Of what? That,” Eve asks in a slightly high-pitched huff while she flails her arms at her side.

“Answer the question, Eve,” Villanelle challenges her.

“Why would I be jealous?”

_Because you do care._

_You do want this._

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

For the briefest moment, a flash of sincerity sparkles across the brown eyes that stare back at her. Without warning, it melts any hardened exterior Villanelle had managed to build around her heart in the months since she last saw Eve.

She thinks back to what Bill told her earlier. Villanelle wants it all to be true in this moment and resents herself for such desires.

“I wouldn’t leave before I finished our interview,” Villanelle hears the words fall from her lips so softly, the painful admission that it is.

She instantly regrets everything she’s said and tries desperately to claw the words back in to protect herself and maintain her defenses.

_Too late._

Villanelle watches a small grin start to pull at Eve’s lips at the thought that she may win this standoff.

It is an incredibly frustrating sight and only serves as a reminder to Villanelle that Eve has the ability to constantly flip an entire interaction on its head simply by being her quintessentially infuriating self.

“Please – you could never leave The Twelve,” Eve says matter-of-factly. The clear anger and jealousy now gone from her voice and replaced by a bit of smugness.

“That’s not true. I would go if the right opportunity presented itself.” Villanelle’s voice is laced with an undercurrent of assuredness.

She needs Eve to know that she is no longer waiting around for her to make a choice no matter how much she wishes she would. She needs to believe it herself.

“But you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. And I would.”

Eve frowns at that, disappointment showing so clearly on her face that Villanelle can’t help but wonder whether she is even aware that her façade has fallen. It’s as if she had never actually considered Villanelle anywhere else, as anything else, until this very moment. The blonde watches as the prospect of it registers for Eve.

“Oh.”

Villanelle shrugs her shoulders, suddenly disappointed herself when she thinks about how she has achieved all she can with The Twelve, and that there is nothing else left for her at the magazine or in London.

“What if you had a reason to stay,” Eve asks.

Villanelle feels her entire body soften though she does her best to keep her emotions under control before she can consider Eve giving her anything of value, anything to cling to as a sign of the possibility it will be different. She has fallen for that far too many times she tells herself. Villanelle swallows hard to keep everything from forcing its way back up and back into her heart and reigniting her soul.

“What?”

“I want you to-”

“Eve,” Elena says loudly as she slings her arm across the brunette’s shoulders. “I’ve been looking all over for you, babe. The boys are all ready to head out for dinner.”

The words move in slow motion as Villanelle’s mind catches up with what has just happened, what had nearly happened. She is certain Eve was finally going to tell her how she felt. 

_After all this time._

Villanelle looks deeply into to her eyes for any sign of confirmation. 

She needs to know.

“Yeah, I’m all set,” Eve says with a smile and an earnest, warm glint in her eyes. She turns to Villanelle, “Do you want to join us?”

And just like that, Villanelle finds what she’s looking for and it’s an exquisite sight to behold. She lets her heart push against her ribcage and for the first time in months, she feels like she can breathe again.

“Yes. I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much as always for reading this fic! I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoy each and every comment and am blown away that there are people out there who like this story.
> 
> If you want to yell at me or chat, I'm on twitter and tumblr.
> 
> I will try to be more diligent about my updates, but I make no promises.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve has one last chance and this time she'll make it count...
> 
> with a night of big, gay karaoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Happy wine Friday! I know it's been a really long time since the last update for this story and I apologize for the delay. If it helps, I really wanted to make sure this chapter hit right. I've had the image of one scene in this chapter stuck in my head since I started this fic - so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> This is also my thank you to everyone who has hung in through all the angst and stupidity from these two. It's the most fluff I've ever written, so I hope you like it. 
> 
> Eve's POV wine this chapter is Oregon Chardonnay. What's beautiful about these wines is that they can straddle the line between very linear and mineral (like a Chablis) and the more rounded, richer Chardonnays of the Côte de Beaune. Oregon Chardonnay smells like lemon rind and white flowers and honey, but lingers in the palate and the distinct salinity is absurdly intoxicating, much in the same way that Eve finds V to be intoxicating.
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 15: Aoûtement

Eve taps her foot nervously along the sidewalk. She is waiting for Villanelle while her friends get a secure at their favourite restaurant in Dusseldorf. This has become a tradition for their team, going back to the early days when Niko’s family owned the winery.

He never joined them for those dinners. Instead, he would entertain the Polastri Wine Group’s various investors, winemakers, and whatever other bougie idiots run in those circles.

She doesn’t want Villanelle to miss them. This place can be hard to find if you aren’t paying attention. Eve tries to convince herself that these are the reasons she is waiting for Villanelle.

It’s easier if she doesn’t let herself succumb to her anxieties and fears – that Villanelle is moving on from her, moving on from London.

_Stupid fancy French arse._

If she admits those things to herself, Eve is done. This thing with Villanelle will be done with before they’ve even started. She is not willing to give in to that reality yet. 

Something has shifted since she let it sink in that Villanelle could walk away from her. It makes her want to reach out and hold on tight to this time they will have together.

If all else fails, Eve is not above using their interview follow-up to her advantage if necessary.

She hopes it doesn’t come to that and she can salvage things tonight.

But if need be, Eve will use her own quirky brand of charm that Villanelle inexplicably seems drawn toward to drag out that damned interview and article as long as humanly possible.

She’ll wait for now.

Wait for this chance tonight. It is the last one she’s going to get.

She runs her hands through her hair slowly to steady her nerves. Eve can’t remember the last time she was so nervous for a dinner.

Suddenly stirred from the ideas swirling in her brain, Eve feels the heat from the restaurant brush against her face and hears the muffled sounds of the restaurant-goers enjoying food and drink as the door opens for an exiting group.

She turns her head toward the door and immediately feels the gut punch knock all of the air from her lungs.

Raymond, with his collar popped up on his ugly grey jacket and perfect creases in his frumpy black trousers, is the first to step onto the sidewalk. His ginger hair is combed over to the right just as it always was when he worked at Polastri and destroyed Eve’s work.

His hair is thinning and his face is rounder Eve decides, making him uglier and more punchable than ever before.

Eve doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because as soon as she finishes roaming over Raymond’s vicious face, Niko follows him outside.

Their eyes meet instinctively and she watches as his ridiculous moustache twitches with pleasure. She sucks in a large breath of air to prepare herself for the inevitable torture that will come from speaking to the two people she wants to see least in this world.

Of course this is happening to Eve now, while she waits for Villanelle, as she finally found the resolve to move forward with their undeniable connection.

Of course Niko is exiting the _one_ restaurant in the entire city of Dusseldorf where he knows Eve and her team go each year. The same fucking restaurant he refused to go to for half a decade when his family owned the winery.

It is yet another vindictive act of spite. He would never be caught dead here under normal circumstances. Small bistros like this are hardly the type of place Niko Polastri frequents.

Eve knows that he’s only here because he knows they’ll be here tonight and wants to make a scene.

She takes one more deep breath and reminds herself of all the terrible things Niko has done to destroy her career – it’s not difficult to do, not while he stares at her with all of the angry fire burning behind his eyes. The bitter jealousy he always had toward Eve for her talent is still there and staring back at her.

Eve shakes her head and chastises herself for ever loving him in the first place and for not leaving him years ago.

“Hello, Eve,” he says.

Raymond sneers behind him as he watches with beady, rat-like eyes.

“Why the hell are you here,” she spits back at him.

His moustache twitches again in glee and Eve feels bile rising and burning her esophagus.

“It’s just a restaurant. I didn’t realise you also got _those_ in the divorce. I best call my lawyers again to confirm which restaurants are mine.”

“Oh piss off, Niko. You know this is the same place we go to every year.”

“I can assure you I did not. While you were playing winemaker with your friends, I was busy running my business,” Niko says as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Whatever you say. Thank god I don’t have to deal with you two anymore. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my team is waiting for me,” Eve says as she starts to push past him toward the entrance.

She has put up with them for more than enough to fill a lifetime. Eve has moved on to much bigger and better things in her career, and perhaps, she can also move along to something with Villanelle – assuming that she doesn’t take up the job opportunity she’s just been handed.

“Leaving so soon,” Niko asks as he steps in front of her to block her way. “We haven’t seen one another in months, darling. There is so much we need to discuss.”

Eve pushes the bile down her throat and instead lets the fury rise within her.

“If you want to _discuss_ things, why don’t we start with the way you are trying to sabotage me?”

“You are delusional, Eve. It must be from all those years spent round all those chemicals.”

She looks over Niko’s shoulder to watch as Raymond snickers at the words.

“First of all. I never use chemicals. That’s only the twat over there in your employ,” she says as she points at Raymond. “Secondly, I know you are the one who had the wood chips dumped in my reserve wine. And I will prove it.”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he says with the most assuring, smug tone she’s ever heard from him.

“I –,” she starts. Then she feels a warm, comforting presence next to her.

“Is there a problem,” Villanelle asks. Her voice is ice cold and commanding.

“There is no problem at all,” Niko says, “we’re are only having a little chat amongst friends. Now, if you wouldn’t mind moving along so that we may continue…”

“I’m not going anywhere without Eve,” Villanelle says, cutting him off.

“And who the fuck do you think you are?”

“That’s Villanelle,” Raymond says as everyone turns their attention toward him. He smiles with a fiendish grin that makes Eve’s blood curdle.

“Villanelle,” Niko bites out each syllable. 

Eve swears she can see the anger heating his skin despite the darkness on the street. It’s a small victory to watch and she will relish every single second of it.

“Niko Polastri,” Villanelle says. “I’d say it is a pleasure to finally meet you, but that would be complete bullshit.” She takes a step toward the men and continues, “I have been waiting a long time to speak to you directly. Without your corporate backing and all the Photoshop, you are much smaller in person.” 

“You need to learn some manners little girl,” Raymond says from over Niko’s shoulder.

“Oh, Raymond – I knew I smelled something rancid when I turned the corner.”

Raymond huffs out a mocking laugh.

Eve takes a moment to scan her surroundings and the embers of anger inside her grow to an inferno. It’s one that is born out of years of rejected opinions and ideas and from having her life’s work nearly destroyed. She was silent for far too long, doubted her abilities and let herself be dragged down by them.

She grabs Villanelle’s hand and pushes past Niko, opening the door to the restaurant. Then she turns quickly and narrows her gaze to shoot daggers at her ex-husband.

“I know it was you, Niko. I will find out how you did it and will make sure everyone else hears the truth about you, about your family’s wines, about everything,” Eve warns.

“Don’t threaten me, honey bunch,” he bites back.

_I absolutely_ fucking _hate it when he calls me that._

“I’m not your honey and it isn’t a threat – I promise you I’ll do it.” 

“I don’t know who you think you are all of a sudden,” Niko says as he steps towards the pair of women, “but if you try to take another thing from me or the Polastri Group, you will regret it.”

Eve balls her hands into tight fists and presses her blunt nails as tightly as she can against her palms. It does nothing to quell the rage burning her up from the inside.

She feels a soft hand slide down her wrist and it instantly release some of the tension built up in her hand as Villanelle laces their fingers together this time.

“Come on,” she says softly in Eve’s ear. 

She lets Villanelle lightly pull her into the doorway of the restaurant. As she goes to turn her attention to more important things, like dinner with her friends, Eve hears Niko scoff behind her and it forces her body to go rigid once again.

Before she can turn back round to face him, Villanelle drops her hand, returns to the sidewalk with an insouciant strut and steps directly into Niko’s personal space. She gets so close that the tips of her shiny patent leather boots touch his overpriced dress shoes.

Eve watches closely as Villanelle taps two fingers on Niko’s chest and whispers something in his ear. She strains to try and hear what is said, but Eve can’t pick up anything over the sounds of the bustling street on a Saturday night.

Instead, she focuses on Niko’s face and eyes as whatever Villanelle says registers in his brain. His brow furrows and his nostrils flare while she simply shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. 

Villanelle finishes speaking to Niko and pulls back with a devilish smile as he glares at her.

Without another word from Niko or Raymond, Villanelle turns back to the door.

“Let’s eat,” she says with an easy smile.

Eve can feel Villanelle’s hand hovering near the small of her back and urging her attention away from the two men.

“What did you say to him,” Eve asks as she walks toward the hostess stand.

“It was nothing important.” Villanelle shrugs a shoulder. “A few friendly words, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Eve rolls her eyes and smirks at the blonde.

She takes a moment to replay it all in her mind and concludes, in some sort of revelatory moment, that she isn’t bothered at all by what transpired. Eve wasn’t sure how should would deal with Niko after taking Domaine Martens out from under his nose and she was even less sure of how to defend herself from his attempts to destroy her.

Having finally faced him though, it feels like a relief to confront Niko, even in this way. To have Villanelle’s support and steadying presence in the process, it is more comforting than she ever expected it to be.

More than that, it’s empowering to know, _really know,_ that someone with no reason to do so and nothing to gain from it, is actually willing to stand by her.

It all clicks for Eve in that moment and the realisation of how much she’s been aching for that very thing – an actual partner, someone to rely on, someone who would be there to strengthen her when things inevitably went to shit.

Her heart flips in her chest when she thinks about the idea of Villanelle possibly becoming that person.

It’s what she wants when she is honest with herself. She knows it’s what she wants.

Eve decides once and for all that she won’t waste any more time missing out on having something with Villanelle.

As she quickly returns to the present and opens her mouth to speak to the hostess, Eve spots her friends in the corner with drinks in hand. Elena waves and beckons them to sit.

“Oh, there they are,” Eve says.

They walk to the table, Villanelle moving to the seat by Elena while Eve situates herself across from her, between Bill and Bear. 

“Woah – Villanelle,” Elena says when Villanelle pulls out her chair and sits, “that outfit is brilliant.”

Eve’s eyes and brain finally manage to register what she is wearing. It had gone unnoticed on the street while they dealt with Niko and Raymond. But now she lets her eyes roam over the long, silky green duster and black body suit.

It is a different look from her usual blazer and trousers and Eve allows herself a moment to linger on Villanelle’s fit body.

_She is unfairly sexy._

For once, the blonde doesn’t catch her when she stares.

Bill does, and he gives her a knowing smirk that tells her she’s been caught out as Eve turns her attention back to the group.

_Dick._

“Thank you. I usually go to a club with some other wine writers every year and promised to stop by tonight,” Villanelle says with a smile.

“Wait.” Elena has a puzzled look on her face as she turns to Eve and asks, “you didn’t tell her?”

_Shit._

She was hoping her friends would agree to skip this part of the night and give her a chance to spend time with Villanelle.

“Tell me what,” Villanelle asks. Her eyes shift back and forth between Eve and Elena.

Eve didn’t bother to share this with her because it is, admittedly, not for everyone. It’s also slightly embarrassing and certainly isn’t something that Villanelle and her fancy silk jacket would want to do.

Though it actually is Eve’s absolute favourite part of ProWein each year. If she invited Villanelle and the blonde scoffed at the idea, it would hurt a bit.

_Best to avoid the situation entirely._

At least, that was the plan.

“Yeah, Eve. Tell her,” Elena says as she gestures with her head to urge her on.

Eve rolls her eyes then hangs her head slightly.

_She is going to think this is ridiculous._

“After dinner… we… always go to a karaoke bar,” Eve manages to mumble out.

She looks up to see Villanelle’s eyes go wide.

“It’s more than that,” Elena chimes in, “we have a karaoke competition.”

“I’d hardly classify what we do as competition,” Kenny says. “Bill and Eve always cheat.”

“Kenny… how many times do I have to tell you, you can’t cheat at karaoke. It’s not my fault you’re all a bunch of shite singers.” Bill looks up from his glass of wine with a playful glint in his eye.

“Karaoke,” Villanelle asks as she looks back to Eve for clarification.

“Yes,” Eve admits, “we karaoke.”

“I have never done karaoke before,” Villanelle says as smile crosses her face and widens broadly, “but I am an excellent singer.”

_Of course she is._

Villanelle is excellent at everything, it only makes sense she’s a great singer too.

“It’s settled then. You’re coming with us,” Elena announces.

“Honestly,” Eve says with resignation, “you really don’t have to come. It’s our tradition and it’s a stupid thing I started a few years ago.”

“Eve.” Villanelle reaches her hand across the table and rests it on top of Eve’s. “I would like to karaoke with you.”

Eve can’t hold back the smile she feels blossoming across her lips at the sincerity of Villanelle’s words and touch. It all serves as further confirmation of what she now knows, even if she refused to believe it at first – Villanelle is truly special.

Eve spent over a year resenting Villanelle for her honesty when she should have directed those feelings squarely toward Niko from the start. The way she’s acted for so long turns her stomach ever so slightly but she pushes those thoughts down and refuses to let them ruin this night.

“Are you sure,” Eve asks. “It gets quite competitive.”

“I am very sure. I fully expect to give the best performance.”

Villanelle flashes a beautiful, intoxicating smile at Eve and she soaks the moment in as hope slowly begins to grow in depths of her heart. Almost immediately, it starts to build with each second that passes as she sits with her eyes locked on Villanelle.

The waitress arrives at their table and asks for their orders and the interruption brings Eve back to her surroundings. She quickly tamps down on her hope like a cork plunging into the carbonated bubbles of Champagne as she places her drinks order. 

Now is not the time to get carried away with what could be. She has to get through karaoke first.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sit around the plush u-shaped couch in the Amsterdam room, everyone looking around to one another.

Bill picks up one of the large binders full of songs.

“Alright, are you wankers ready to buy my drinks again,” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” Villanelle says reaches across the large table in the center of the room and grabs the binder from his hands.

Eve can’t stifle her laugh at their banter. It has been this way all evening and she doesn’t fail to appreciate the way Villanelle has joined their group so effortlessly.

It’s like she’s been with them for years.

The feeling of Villanelle seamlessly fitting into her life is both exhilarating and terrifying, and for once, on this night, Eve chooses not to dwell on the terrifying bit.

“Don’t bother,” Kenny says to Villanelle, “Bill’s won two years running.”

“What’s the category,” Bear asks as he sips his beer and drops the tray of other drinks on the table.

“Disney songs,” Bill suggests.

Everyone turns their heads simultaneously and stares directly at him.

“That’s not the worst idea,” Bear says.

Eve throws a heated, angry look his way.

“No. Absolutely not,” she says flatly. “Not again.”

_They are trying to ruin this for me._

She holds her scowl for a few moments longer before she picks up her pint glass and slides back into the cushions.

“What,” Bear asks in response.

Eve shakes her head and takes a long swig of her drink. As her beer slides down her throat, she can manages to silently pray that the incredibly attractive, sophisticated and worldly woman seated to her left doesn’t immediately run away from their ridiculous idea of a night out.

“Villanelle, you’re new to all this. You choose our category,” Elena suggests.

_Thank fucking christ I hired her._

She’s been the only one with half a brain and any level of decorum tonight. Each of the guys has either acted entirely too awkwardly in Villanelle’s presence – Kenny; or not had the proper sense to shut the hell up – Bear.

And of course Bill.

He carried on through the whole of their meal with a smug smirk plastered on his face and that look he always gives her when he lets Eve know that he knows exactly what she’s doing or thinking. It’s infuriating and not the least bit subtle.

Eve is sure that Villanelle had to have seen at least some of it.

She is also sure that at any moment, the blonde will extricate herself from this absurd situation and go running off with much more interesting people.

This is her last chance. Eve knows that fact deep down in her bones.

And they are sitting at a karaoke bar.

With her staff.

Eve expects Villanelle to choose a song category along the lines of _songs about the worst dates in history_ or _songs about dumbasses who blew their chances._

Instead, Villanelle turns to her with a wonderful smile that warms Eve’s entire body.

“Hmm,” she hums as she taps her index finger against her chin. “I choose… the 80’s. It’s only fair to the old people that I select songs they know.”

Kenny and Bear groan in unison while Elena chuckles.

Eve lightly whacks the back of her hand across Villanelle’s bicep for the dig.

“Arse.”

She simply rubs her arm slowly and sets her broad smile back on her face.

“Well.” Bill grabs the remote and quickly types in his song choice. “Since I am the reigning karaoke champion, I’ll go first.”

He pops off the couch and takes one of the microphones as he positions himself front and center in the room. 

The song queues up and he turns his back to the video screen as the first notes stream through.

_“One, two  
One, two, three, uh…”_

Eve rolls her eyes at the song. It’s fun and catchy and not at all original. Bill knows exactly what he does well and sticks with it.

Elena and Villanelle both start to shimmy their shoulders. Eve notices that, shockingly, the blonde isn’t fluid with her movements.

_“She wore a  
Raspberry beret  
The kind you find in a secondhand store”_

Surely she should be an excellent dancer. And yet as Eve continues to watch her move, it becomes more and more obvious that Villanelle most definitely cannot dance.

_“Raspberry beret  
I think I love her”_

Eve takes a few sips of her drink in an effort to hide her amusement.

_“I think, I think, I think I love her”_

Bill sings along to the final lyrics, crosses one foot over the other and spins all the way round to finish his performance. The group claps for him. Villanelle’s cheering is quite clearly the loudest.

Eve is elated that she seems to be enjoying herself somehow.

“Thank you. Thank you,” he says with a bow. “Good luck following that.”

Before he can set the mic down on the table, Villanelle pulls it from his hands. 

“My turn.” She is up in a flash and punches in the code for her song. “I hope you’re all prepared for my global debut.”

Villanelle grips the microphone and twists it in her hands as she faces the video screen and waits for her song to begin.

_“Clock strikes upon the hour  
And the sun begins to fade  
Still enough time to figure out  
How to chase my blues away”_

Eve looks over at her friends. They have varying degrees of shock, horror and amusement on their faces. Elena’s eyes meet hers and she watches the other woman cover her mouth to stifle her laughter.

If Villanelle is a bad dancer, she is a downright horrible singer.

_“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody  
I wanna feel the heat with somebody  
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody  
With somebody who loves me”_

How in the hell did she convince any of them she could actually sing? Better still, what makes Villanelle think she can?

Eve seriously considers whether the woman is tone-deaf.

_“On a love that burns hot enough to last  
So when the night falls  
My lonely heart calls”_

Villanelle turns away from the screen and walks toward Eve as she sings the chorus.

Rather, she attempts to sing the chorus. Villanelle only knows half the words when she doesn’t read them.

But much like the entire night, Villanelle’s smile is so painfully bright that Eve doesn’t have it in her to do anything but smile and sing right along. It’s the most genuine smile Eve’s had in years and after she sings along to a few more bars, she takes the time to drink it all in.

Without warning, her heart starts fluttering rapidly in her chest and for once, Eve doesn’t fight it.

_“With somebody who loves me”_

Then the song ends and she can still feel the remnants of it on her tongue. It’s honey and lemon and tastes sweeter than any Champagne she’s ever had.

Villanelle sets the microphone back on the table, picks up her beer and plops herself down beside Eve.

Bear’s eyes are wide and his mouth is agape, Kenny is grimacing and Elena refuses to look up from her hands. Bill stares at Eve, waiting for her to do or say anything.

She starts to clap slowly and awkwardly.

“That was… wow. That was something,” she offers. Eve starts to clap more normally.

The others join in with overly enthusiastic clapping.

“Thank you.” Villanelle bows her shoulders. Then she leans over to whisper in Eve’s ear. “You’re a terrible liar, Eve. I know that was shit.”

Eve starts to laugh uncontrollably.

“It was… complete shit,” she says between her fits of laughter. “I thought you said you were a _good_ singer.”

Villanelle simply shrugs her shoulder and leans back to rest in the couch.

“It’s all about confidence.”

“You most certainly have more than enough of that.”

“We’ll just see how well you do.”

“Oh. It will be infinitely better than that,” Eve says. 

She knows she is a decent singer, especially compared to the rest of this lot. Eve and Bill are the only two who can carry a tune.

“Care to make a side wager,” Villanelle asks.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I hear that you like Selosse. The loser buys a bottle for the winner.”

_How the fuck does she know that?_

“You’re on,” Eve says.

They stare at each other for a few long moments. The space between them pops and fizzes like a perfect Champagne.

It’s all broken when Bear starts on his rendition of _Red, Red Wine_ by UB40.

At least Villanelle was better than him.

Halfway through the song, Villanelle throws a cushion at him, boos loudly and forces him to sit down.

“Hey!” Eve whacks her with a different cushion. “Be nice.”

“I was. I saved the rest of you from that song.”

Elena laughs and takes her turn typing in her song selection.

“She’s right, mate,” Elena says as she pats Bear on the back of his shoulder. “That was painful.”

In an instant, she’s up and singing out her first few notes.

_“You must understand though the touch of your hand  
Makes my pulse react”_

Eve picks up the large binder full of songs and begins diligently searching for the perfect choice.

She has several go-to songs from the 80s that are always a hit at karaoke nights. None of them seem like the correct choice tonight though. It has to mean something.

__“What’s love got to do, got to do with it”

Elena’s voice briefly cuts through her thoughts and Eve takes a moment to listen. Thankfully, this is far better than the last two songs. It’s still not quite on Bill’s level.

_“Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken”_

Eve looks up to see Elena’s unmistakable ‘fuck me’ eyes trained on Kenny.

_Poor guy._

_He has no clue what he’s got himself into._

She then turns her attention back to the search. As she combs over the titles, she feels Villanelle’s breath on her neck.

“What are you going to choose,” Villanelle asks playfully.

Eve quirks her eyebrow at the blonde then twists away to hide the lists from Villanelle’s prying eyes.

“None of your business.”

Eve flips the page and one title instantly stands out to her.

“If you say so. My favorite Selosse is the La Côte Faron.”

She quickly glances down at the page one last time and commits the numbers of her song to memory.

Elena finishes her performance and receives a round of cheers. She tosses the mic to Kenny then whispers something in his ear.

“You’re up,” Elena teases.

Kenny fumbles the microphone in his hands, clearly flustered by whatever Elena said. He then stands, rounds the table and puts his song into the system.

In short order, the slow intro notes to _Faith_ start to filter through the room.

“Oh! I like this song,” Villanelle says. 

“Me too,” Eve confesses.

“Everyone likes this bloody song.” Bill takes a long swig from his pint glass when Kenny starts to sing.

_“Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body  
I know not everybody has got a body like you”_

“Come on, Kenny,” Villanelle yells, “get into it!”

“Yeah,” Elena agrees.

_“Oh, but I need some time off from that emotion  
Time to pick my heart up off the floor”_

In unison, Elena and Villanelle down the last of their drinks and join Kenny in the front of the room.

Together, the three of them belt the chorus off-key.

_“Cause I gotta have faith  
I gotta have faith  
Because I gotta have faith, faith, faith”_

Villanelle walks over to Eve and reaches out her hand, pulling her up to join them. She lets herself be dragged along and turns around and gestures with her head for both Bill and Bear to also stand up and sing.

_“Oh, oh, baby, I reconsider my foolish notion  
Well, I need someone to hold me but I'll wait for somethin' more”_

The blonde shoulder bumps her with a smile as everyone sings together.

_“Cause I gotta have faith  
Ooh, I gotta have faith  
Because I gotta have faith, faith, faith  
I gotta have faith, faith, faith”_

As the last notes bleed out of the room’s speakers, Elena turns, grabs Kenny by his collar and smashes their lips together. The rest of the group claps and cheers and Bill lets out a loud whistle.

When she pulls back, Kenny’s face is flushed a bright crimson color like young Pinot Noir.

Villanelle claps her hands once then rubs them together expectantly.

“Okay, Eve. You’re turn,” she says.

Eve punches in the now-memorised code.

“You best sit down for this,” Eve says as she turns and pushes Villanelle back toward the wrap-around couch. “And get ready to pay up.”

She takes up one of the extra microphones from table and throws it in the air, letting it flip around for show. 

It’s all an act.

Eve can feel her heart pounding loudly in her ears. So loudly that she worries for an instant that she’ll miss the start of her song.

A song she chose quite specifically. It says the things she does’t know how to say herself.

With a quick, controlled series of breaths, Eve turns to look at the lyrics as the melody begins.

_“I hear the ticking of the clock  
I'm lying here the room's pitch dark”_

After the first few bars, the rest of words flood back into her head. She heard it so many times when she was young. 

Eve’s confidence grows and the jitters fall away.

_“And the night goes by so very slow  
Oh I hope that it won't end though  
Alone”_

She turns toward the group to sing the chorus.

_“Til now I always got by on my own  
I never really cared until I met you  
And now it chills me to the bone  
How do I get you alone”_

Eve looks over to Villanelle for the first time.

When their eyes meet, she sees honest, sincere adoration sparkling in the hazel eyes fixed on her. In that moment, Eve knows that Villanelle can’t see anything else. 

Neither can she.

_“You don't know how long I have wanted  
To touch your lips and hold you tight”_

For the millionth time tonight, Eve’s heart flutters rapidly. She savors every second of it because she feels like she is finally getting her feelings across.

_“Til now I always got by on my own  
I never really cared until I met you”_

Villanelle’s eyes trail down to Eve’s lips and her tongue wets her own. The action causes Eve’s throat to dry and the air around them becomes heavy.

She swallows quickly and tries to focus on the end of song.

_“How do I get you alone…  
Alone, alone”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought about this chapter - if you loved it (I hope so) or hated it (keep that to yourself please).
> 
> This should set up the last part of the fic nicely (crosses fingers)...
> 
> I'm on twitter and tumblr if you want to yell at me or talk wine.
> 
> Oh, and if you live in the States, please be sure to get out and vote. IT MATTERS!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I am so sorry it took so long to get back to this fic and these characters. I could offer up some reasons why I haven't updated, but honestly, I don't have any good ones.
> 
> What I will say is that every time someone left a comment or kudos while I was putting this off, it honestly made my day!
> 
> Now, without further ado, V's POV wine:
> 
> This choice is entirely self-serving because it's Sangiovese. My first "ah ha" moment, where I understood wine and how beautifully expressive it can be was the first time I opened a bottle of Rosso di Montalcino. In this chapter, V has a different kind of "ah ha" moment...
> 
> Cheers!

# Chapter 16: Fining

Villanelle runs her tongue slowly across her lips as the final few notes of Eve’s rendition of _Alone_ bleed out through the speakers. She keeps her eyes locked on the dark brown pools that stare back at her while Eve sets her microphone down.

Bill clears his throat somewhere across the room. It makes Eve’s head turn toward the sound as though she’s been caught out.

For a handful of minutes, Villanelle had forgotten that anyone else in the entire world existed while she listened to Eve sing.

It wasn’t any song – Eve sang to her. That much is unmistakable to Villanelle.

But Bill brings her back to the present and the karaoke room filled with Eve’s colleagues and the bright lights dancing across the dark room that filter back into her consciousness.

At this moment, she wants nothing more than to take Eve by the hand and find somewhere they can be alone.

Villanelle’s mouth is painfully dry as she considers the possibility and it suddenly feels like she has walked through a desert for weeks.

In some ways she has been waiting for Eve to come round to this point. She has waited and been patient and now Villanelle is undeniably desperate for the chance to quench this lingering thirst. She reaches to the table in the centre of the room to grab her drink.

“Hey,” Kenny protests.

“What,” Villanelle asks, clearly confused.

“That’s my beer.”

“Oh,” she says with a shrug of her shoulder, “sorry.” Villanelle takes a few quick, large gulps, slams the pint glass back down on the table and lets the bitter, hoppy ale slide down her throat.

It doesn’t help. 

She is still parched.

Villanelle knows this feeling – a beer won’t satiate it in the least.

Eve saunters past her and takes up her seat once more.

“So,” Eve begins with a devious lilt in her voice, “seems like I won.”

The sudden bravado from the brunette does nothing to alleviate Villanelle’s current state. 

If anything, it only makes things more unbearable.

Villanelle takes a moment to let a smirk grow across her own lips while she musters as much confidence as she possesses before she turns to face Eve. She can’t let on that she is bursting at the seams, consumed by a constant need, not until she knows this is more than another round of hot and cold from Eve.

_It does feel different tonight._

She can recognise that much.

It feels like it did for a few fleeting moments when they were together for Christmas. The brunette has looked at her in that same way tonight, something more swirling in her eyes each time they meet.

Finally having regained her composure, she turns to face Eve.

“What makes you think you’ve won,” she asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“It’s rather obvious.”

“Is that so?”

Villanelle cannot help but allow her smile to become slightly menacing when she catches Eve’s eyes and they betray her for a millisecond, dark brown orbs drifting ever so slightly downward to Villanelle’s lips and forcing Eve to lean away to keep up her façade.

Now, in this crowded room with Eve’s friends, is not the time to make any overt moves. She must be patient and allow Eve to set the pace.

It is such a stark contrast to how Villanelle has approached anything else in her life, but she has learned that when it comes to Eve, she is willing to do whatever it takes.

So Villanelle leans back against the couch with a toothy grin she hopes that Eve must hate yet secretly love.

Villanelle hums after a beat, “I suppose you were alright.”

Eve rolls her eyes and lets out a deep chuckle.

“You can deliver the Selosse to my room.”

Villanelle quirks her eyebrow at the statement and her mind instantly races with possibilities. She allows herself to truly start to believe that Eve may _actually_ have meant those words she sang, and quite possibly means that she wants Villanelle to show up at her door for something more than a wine delivery.

Sh can't be sure that Eve intended her words to be quite as sultry as they were but it causes her mouth dries yet again regardless of the intent. It feels like the most tannic of wines is clawing at her throat and the prospect of it all is absolutely glorious.

“Alright wankers. Who’s ready for another round,” Bill asks as he stands up from the couch and grabs a microphone.

His next song is already drifting through the room before either woman breaks the silence that has settled between.

“Oh, I love this song,” Eve admits as she sips from her pint glass.

Villanelle perks her ears up in an effort to catch the tune. This isn’t one she is familiar with.

She turns back to Eve.

“I don’t think I know it.”

“What! You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry, Eve. I know many, _many_ things, but some of these old, arcane songs – I don’t,” Villanelle says with a playful shrug.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call me old.”

Villanelle laughs as Eve glares at her.

Then Eve immediately lets a smile creep across her face, takes a deep swig of beer, slams her glass down and takes up the other mic in the centre of the room to join Bill when he sings the bridge.

_“Too-ra-loo-ra_  
_Too-ra-loo-rye-ay_  
_And we can sing just like our fathers”_

Eve does a weirdly endearing shoulder shimmy as the chorus begins. It causes Villanelle’s heart to beat erratically in her chest.

She has never been this flustered by anyone, nor has she ever allowed anyone’s ridiculous, admittedly dorky behaviour stir such warmth in her.

_“Come on, Eileen,”_ Bill starts.

_“Oh, I swear (what he means),”_ Eve joins in.

_“At this moment_  
_You mean everything,”_ they sing together.

Villanelle grabs Kenny’s beer for the second time and downs the rest of the glass to quell her nerves. She knows that she is fully and completely consumed by her desire and affection for the woman standing in the room singing an 80’s song she’s never heard.

Kenny huffs and shuffles out of the room for a refill.

_“You in that dress,”_ Eve sings first this time.

_“My thoughts, I confess,”_ Bill continues.

_“Verge on dirty_  
_Ah, come on, Eileen,”_ they croon together.

The blonde feels herself being instinctively pulled toward Eve by some unshakable gravitational force with each passing second. She slides her legs to the front of the faux leather cushion below her, digs her palms into the material and leans her shoulders forward.

Villanelle is utterly enthralled again.

It finally dawns on her in that moment that what she is feeling may just be love.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as the realisation washes over her and her heart pounds so hard that it drowns out the music.

After she opens her eyes back up, Bill dances over and reaches out a hand for Villanelle. She smiles and takes it and lets him lead her in an awkward dance while he continues to sing along.

_“But not us (not ever)_  
_We are far too young and clever_  
( _Remember)_  
_Too-ra-loo-ra_  
_Too-ra-loo-rye-ay_  
_And you'll hum this tune forever.”_

Then he spins her half way round and pulls his hand out of her grip so she’s now inches away from Eve. She catches the bright reds, blues and greens of the room’s party lights dancing off the other woman’s eyes.

Eve shrugs her shoulders and steps impossibly closer.

“Do you know this one yet,” she asks between her parts of the chorus.

“No,” Villanelle says with a smile. “It’s not so bad though.”

“Glad you like it.”

Feeling like she can no longer control herself after her revelation and caught up in the spell of the music and Eve and their proximity to one another, Villanelle lets words spill out before she even registers them forming in her head and can clamp them tightly between her lips.

“I think that’s because I l… like you.”

She lets out a quick breath at the last second save.

Eve stops, seemingly frozen in place as eyes go wide and a million emotions play across her features. She misses her part but Bill doesn’t seem to mind. He continues to provide background noise to what otherwise is the stretching silence that sits heavily between the women.

It drags on for what feels like a lifetime. 

Villanelle feels her heart caving in on itself with each painful moment that passes.

“I -,” Eve starts. Her eyes briefly flicker to the blonde’s lips then back once again. Villanelle wonders if Eve even knows she slipped this time. All the while, Villanelle’s blood pumps a little louder in her ears.

She waits for another eternity for Eve to continue.

_Say something._

_Please._

_Shit._

When Eve doesn’t, Villanelle lets out a deep sigh then gives Eve a half-hearted smile that takes far too much energy to produce when her heart is shattered.

It feels like defeat yet again for Villanelle. Like a nearly magical night slips through her fingers in an instant.

This hurts so much more though. Now that she knows what Eve truly means to her.

At least this time, Villanelle tries to convince herself, she isn’t imagining that something exists between them.

She knows it’s there.

Eve feels it too, even when she holds herself back. Villanelle swears that she sees it in her eyes.

It does little to stem the unbearable pain.

“It’s alright, Eve,” she says with as much sincerity as she can manage under the circumstances. “You don’t have to say anything.”

She watches as Eve’s brow furrows in confusion, as though she does not understand the blonde’s words.

“I was _going_ to say – I think we should maybe get out of here and… talk.” Eve turns and gestures to her friends sitting round the couches, all apparently half drunk and singing along loudly.

_Oh._

_“At this moment_  
_You mean everything,”_ Bill sings as Villanelle finally remembers they’re standing in the middle of a karaoke bar surrounded by an audience of Eve’s friends.

“Oh. I… yes. Brilliant! Let’s do that,” Villanelle says. Her voice sounds overly excited as it reverberates in her ears and she would normally cringe at the display, but Villanelle cannot bring herself to care.

Not when things finally, _finally_ seem to be headed in the correct direction. At least that is what she hopes.

Eve sets her microphone down.

“We’re going to head out,” she says, slightly drowned out by the music.

“What,” Elena yells back with her hand to her ear as she tries to hear.

“We’re leaving,” Eve shouts.

“Fucking finally,” Bills says into his mic.

Elena doubles over in her seat and laughs hysterically while Bear pauses with his hand suspended in the air, mouth slightly agape as he holds a brightly coloured gummy candy between his meaty fingers.

Villanelle watches eagerly as Eve rolls her eyes at her friends.

“Come on,” Eve huffs as she heads to the door.

“This has been great, guys,” Villanelle shouts to rest of the room and immediately falls in step behind her.

As they push out the door, they pass Kenny.

“’Night, Kenny,” Eve says.

Villanelle flashes him a devilish smirk as she pats him on his befuddled cheek. Then she reaches for Eve’s hand and interlocks their fingers.

“’Night,” he mumbles to their backs.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Villanelle finishes typing out a reply email to Kruger setting the minimum price for the various lots of wine she plans to sell from her collection as she waits for Eve to break another heavy silence. It is constricting her vocal cords and she pleads to whatever higher power exists that Eve will actually say something to crack the ever-building pressure.

She needs to know where Eve stands.

She needs to know what this means for them.

After she presses the icon to send the message, Villanelle quickly reads through a new email in her inbox from Konstantin that’s filled with her itinerary for the next three weeks.

It begins with a brief stop at home tomorrow then Villanelle will be off for annual trip to Australia and New Zealand. She would typically be excited to get back on the road and out tasting new wines and she was looking forward to it until this very instant. 

Villanelle doesn’t want to lose any more time with Eve, not now.

Villanelle closes out her app, locks her phone and slides it back into her pocket as she stares out the window at all the lights of the city and foolishly tries to think about anything and everything that is happening outside the car as her heart begins to beat so erratically she feels it in her teeth. 

She balls her left hand into a fist for a moment and squeezes forcefully to feel her blunted nails press into the soft skin of her palms – all of it in an effort to level herself for whatever is to come.

She is nervous, so very nervous.

It’s such a disconcerting feeling, one that crawls underneath her skin.

_Love is terrible._

Villanelle has no idea what will happen next. She knows full well what she wants to happen and it makes her swallow thickly as she thinks for a moment about how it would actually feel to be with Eve.

To feel soft skin beneath her fingers.

To feel their lips crash together once more.

To feel Eve’s writhing body when she comes undone.

“So,” Eve says finally as she twists her shoulders slightly in the backseat of their Uber, “will you tell me what you said to Niko?”

The blonde smirks and lets out a small, devious chuckle. It is all in an effort to hide the merciless pressure that has been building in her chest with her brief fanticising.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says. It sounds much smoother than she feels and Villanelle mentally congratulates herself for her efforts.

“I would.”

“Hmm,” Villanelle hums, “why don’t you tell me what you ever saw in that moustache first.”

Eve turns her body to fully face Villanelle.

“I’ll need more alcohol to answer that.”

Villanelle laughs but remains undeterred.

“At least tell me why you let him get to you.”

“Honestly,” Eve asks. She looks deep into Villanelle’s eyes and the blonde knows she is searching for something, some sort of sincerity or safety.

“Yes,” Villanelle says softly, “honestly.”

Eve takes a deep inhale while Villanelle prepares to listen intently.

“I think it was just easier, you know? Pretending like I wanted the things I was _supposed_ to want – do the things I was _supposed_ to do. At some point… I became numb to it all, even when Niko brought Raymond on and completely changed everything I wanted to do with the wines and effectively destroyed them. I never protested, never said a word.”

Eve sighs and her features contort as the disappointment and self-deprecation, things Villanelle has never seen before, flash across the brown eyes that look back at her.

_Niko and Raymond overruled her decisions?_

_How is it I didn’t know this?_

_Why doesn’t anyone know about this?_

“Eve…” Villanelle starts, but there is barely any time for Villanelle to fully process the gravity of what Eve is saying about the old Polastri wines before the brunette starts again.

“It wasn’t until you came along with that damned article that I woke up and remembered what I wanted.”

The honesty strikes somewhere deep in the darkest wells of Villanelle’s soul.

She thinks that she might have always wanted to love Eve.

Before there is an opportunity to unpack such a terrifying thought, she is ready with a cheeky answer.

“Ah, so you finally admit it,” Villanelle asks.

“Admit what?”

“That you should be thanking me for what I wrote about the Polastri sparkling wines.”

“Ha! No, definitely not. It’s still been an uphill battle finding my footing after everything you said. But… you weren’t wrong.”

Villanelle considers her next words and the weight of them very carefully. She wants to say so much, admit exactly how much she feels for Eve, how much she believes in her.

The uncertainty of whether or not they will fully be reciprocated causes Villanelle to settle for saying something less.

“You were never meant to be ordinary, Eve. There is so much more you have to offer the world. I can see it.”

The corner of Eve’s mouth turns up ever so slightly.

Villanelle smirks at Eve and leans in close as she prepares to continue.

Instead, she finds herself in sudden awe of the warmth she finds reflecting back at her through Eve’s eyes. Her words catch in her throat and calcify like Champagne chalk.

She reaches her hand out, fingers lightly pushing a wild curl behind Eve’s ear. As if on instinct, the brunette leans into the touch.

It’s nothing, a simple movement of soft skin to meet her palm.

But it is undoubtedly the most intimate feeling Villanelle has ever experienced.

It is filled with trust and affection and something more Villanelle can’t quite place.

She knows without a doubt, she would trade her entire wine collection, all of the notoriety, all the perks, for more of this with the woman sitting beside her.

“Are you going to tell me now,” Eve whispers as she closes her eyes and pulls away.

And the perfect little moment is broken.

It is a unique gift that Eve possesses.

Villanelle rolls her eyes as playfully as possible and moves back toward her side of the car.

“You will have to make it worth my while,” she says with a mischievous lilt Villanelle thinks hides her disappointment for the loss of contact.

She debates whether or not she should actually tell Eve what she said to Niko, particularly with the way Eve keeps asking about it.

Villanelle is not sure Eve would actually want to know how graphically she threatened her ex-husband. 

_Do people want to hear such things?_

With Eve, it could go either way.

“Name your terms.” Eve’s voice matches her own and Villanelle is certain that Eve is flirting.

Villanelle waits to compose herself before she answers.

The time brings with it a return of the crackling in the air. It’s a perfect, excruciating build of the ever-present tension that exists in their small microclimate.

“Are you sure you want to do that, Eve? I can be very expensive, you know.”

Eve chuckles briefly and it’s deep and laced with what sounds like desire.

It sets off an electric charge that filters through Villanelle’s body and rests low in her stomach.

“I’m well aware.”

Before Villanelle can think of her next quip, the car jerks to a stop and their driver lays his hand heavily on the horn.

The sound washes over them and it seems to remind Eve of where she is and what she is doing. She averts her eyes toward her window and Villanelle does the same.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sit quietly for a few minutes while the city passes by.

“Would you ever actually do it,” Eve asks.

“Do what?” Villanelle turns back to her in confusion.

Eve finally meets her gaze again.

“Leave The Twelve and take Hélène’s offer?”

Villanelle knows what Eve is trying to do now. She’s looking for answers, as she always does, without giving up any ground on her part… without giving away her own feelings. 

“Would you want me to go,” Villanelle asks to counter the move.

“No,” Eve says with a mix of sincerity and nerves in her voice, “I wouldn’t.”

Villanelle is immediately caught off-guard by the honest admission.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

_There it is._

_Always keeping her hand so close._

“I don’t, Eve.”

“Yes – you do,” Eve says more sternly. “Don’t make me say it.”

Villanelle does not answer. She simply nods and sighs.

It’s as much as she will get, _for now._

It doesn’t feel like enough in that moment. She needs to know that Eve will love her back.

The sedan rolls to a stop outside their hotel. Villanelle pulls the cold plastic door handle and slides herself out onto the sidewalk. She takes a second to quickly inhale and exhale and allow the crisp air to chase away some of her feelings before she reaches a hand inside for Eve, offering it up for the taking.

Eve swats her hand away and Villanelle quickly retracts it, smiling to herself while she shakes her head.

As Eve occupies the space beside her, Villanelle tries to work her way through a plan for the rest of the night. It’s imperative, she knows, that whatever happens, it goes off without a hitch. The brunette is so volatile, even now, and it is nearly impossible to know if what feels like a logical next step, even after the flirting, will happen or if Villanelle will end the night being forced out in the cold.

The phone buzzing in her pocket rips Villanelle back to the present and out of her thoughts. She reaches her hand inside her duster jacket as they walk through the hotel’s automatic sliding doors, the feeling of artificial heat blasting their skin as they enter the lobby.

“Will you excuse me for a minute,” Villanelle asks as she steps away and peers at the name on the caller ID before she answers the call.

“What,” she snaps.

“Hello to you too, Villanelle,” Konstantin says back.

“I’m busy.”

“I know. I heard all about your evening with Eve Polastri.”

Villanelle shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the man on the other end of the line.

_How does he always know?_

It’s an impressive skill, something he does better than anyone. It’s also equally annoying, particularly in times such as these.

“If you know where I am and who I’m with, why are you bothering me?” Her question is demanding and she makes no attempt to hide her frustration with the interruption.

“Because – you still have a job to do. I haven’t seen a single word from you on your story about Eve. You should be writing instead of taking her out. The issue due to the printer next week and that means you are late.”

Villanelle blows an exasperated puff of air out of the corner of her mouth.

“I’ve never missed a deadline, Konstantin.”

“This is different. Eve, she makes you… distracted.” After a long pause he continues, “Remember Paris?”

She can feel the tension wrapping around her shoulders and twisting down her limbs at the accusation and the memory. Of course she remembers, the ever-changing current of Eve Polastri and it frightens at her beyond words.

Still, she can’t help herself.

“I do my job better than anyone. I’m not distracted.”

“You interviewed her weeks ago. But I still have nothing.”

She clenches her jaw and pushes the words out.

“It will be done. You’ll have it in hand tomorrow before my flight.”

“Goo-“

Villanelle ends the call and whips around toward Eve before Konstantin can finish.

“Everything alright,” Eve asks as Villanelle walks back. Her heavy black boots, with their ornate buckles, slap loudly across the floor as she closes the distance with Eve.

“Of course,” she says with a bright smile.

They make their way to the lift and Villanelle tries to listen to the fainting echo of her boots in an effort to drown out any lingering thoughts from her conversation with Konstantin, the Uber ride and the pounding of her heart. When Villanelle presses the button to call the next car, she chances a quick glance over to Eve.

She swears she sees a sharp, deep inhale and a sign of nerves from Eve.

_Good,_ she thinks for only half a second.

Then, Villanelle realises she doesn’t want Eve to be nervous. She wants her to feel safe and relaxed.

“Did you want to have another drink,” Villanelle asks. It’s as much an offer to give Eve more time to calm herself as it is an attempt at self-preservation if Eve is changing her mind.

She is not sure she can stomach another rejection as Konstantin’s words continue to play in her head.

“No. I… uhm – let’s just go upstairs.”

“Okay.”

The sound of the lift’s bell stops Villanelle before she has the opportunity to formulate a coherent plan of how to approach being in a hotel room alone with Eve.

Villanelle follows her into the car and takes a quiet, silent breath to calm herself yet again.

“What floor,” Villanelle asks.

“Seven.”

They stand in silence for a few excruciating beats as the dings for the first and then the second floors reverberate through the car.

“When are you going to tell me what you said Niko,” Eve tries yet again as the lift slows and stops on the third floor. 

Villanelle rolls her eyes at the question and neither woman seems to notice they are no longer in motion.

“You have yet to tell me what I get in return,” she answers with a shrug of her shoulders.

When she finally decides to get it over with and admit to Eve that she promised to stuff Niko in a grape press if he ever did anything to hurt her or her business again, Villanelle is jolted across the car.

Eve grabs at her duster, balling the fabric between her fists as she roughly pulls Villanelle against her body. She can feel Eve’s breath burning at the skin on her cheek and ear as she husks out her words.

“I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

_Holy shit._

As if by some diabolical personal attack from the universe, the doors to the car open.

An admittedly smartly dressed man with perfectly tousled brown curls steps inside. Villanelle glares over her shoulder, her eyes rake up and down the man’s body as he moves over to the opposite side of the car when the doors slide together and close. 

Eve releases her grip on Villanelle’s jacket and takes a step away toward the front wall of the lift, creating a distance that feels like an uncomfortable void in an instant.

She is certain that she’s seen this man before, his style is intriguing and somewhat memorable. But Villanelle cannot seem to place how or from where she knows him.

“Eve,” the man says far too happily and loudly for Villanelle’s liking. The familiarity in his smirk is infuriating.

“Hugo. What are you doing here,” Eve asks. She appears honestly stunned by the man’s presense. Much to Villanelle’s disappointment, Eve seems genuinely happy to see him.

_Hugo._

_Eve’s business partner._

Villanelle decides she does not like Hugo at all and is immediately certain he has ruined everything.

“This is one of the biggest parties of the year. I wouldn’t miss it,” he says with a wink. “Besides, I’m about to woo some of our future exporters. You should join us for drinks.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair as she tries her best to resist the sudden urge to shove Hugo through the doors of the moving car. 

She clears her throat and steps into the space next to Eve. Villanelle reaches her right hand out behind Eve’s shoulders and places it firmly on the wall above the panel of buttons.

It’s a territorial and somewhat petulant move to be sure.

Villanelle doesn’t care.

She _has_ to do something.

_“Oh._ Well who are you,” Hugo asks with a devilish smile as he quite obviously moves his eyes over Villanelle’s form. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

Villanelle scowls at him when Hugo reaches out his hand for her to shake.

“No. You haven’t,” she says harshly.

After a few seconds while his arm hangs extended in the air, Eve elbows Villanelle firmly in her ribs and she reluctantly gives Hugo’s hand a single, quick shake.

“I’m Villanelle.”

“As in the Villanelle?” His eyes go wide and he smiles even brighter.

_As if there are others._

“Yes,” she replies through gritted teeth.

“Excellent,” he says as he wags a finger to gesture between the women, “you can both come with me to this next meeting on the terrace. A good word from the press will surely help to seal the deal for us.”

Villanelle looks over to Eve to gauge how she should handle the invitation.

There is now a determined glint in Eve’s eye. It’s one that Villanelle has only seen a few times, yet she already knows it means.

Eve is letting her passion rise to the surface.

She loves that look.

It is without a doubt one of the most alluring and intoxicating things in the entire universe. It cannot be stifled, not by Villanelle or anyone else.

Eve hardly needs Villanelle to impress exporters into signing contracts to ship her wines around the world. She only needs to show people how wonderful her wines are, just needs a few minutes to allow her exuberance and spirit shine through in her words.

Anything that she hoped would happen tonight is surely no longer possible.

_It’s the right thing to do._

She does not want to do it, not in the least. It even breaks her heart a little to let the night end this way.

But this isn’t about her wants.

_This is about Eve._

Reluctantly, Villanelle sighs then looks back to Eve with something she knows must be frighteningly close to adoration. 

“You should go on your own, Eve. You don’t need any help from me. Your Champagne will speak for itself.”

“Are you sure?” Eve’s voice holds a twinge of disappointment.

“Yes,” Villanelle answers as she takes one of Eve’s hands in her own and laces their fingers together. “I have to finish up with your article before I leave tomorrow anyhow. That’s why Konstantin called earlier.”

“You’re leaving?”

Villanelle nods in conformation.

“Back to London and then to Australia and New Zealand for three weeks,” she explains.

“Oh.”

Hugo clears his throat and it draws Villanelle’s attention back to the unwanted intruder. With the car stopped, he annoyingly holds the gold metal doors open.

“Either of you staying on seven,” he asks.

Without registering what he actually said, Villanelle’s focus returns to Eve.

“Can I see you when I’m back home?”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Eve says.

“Okay. Good night, Eve.”

“Good night.”

Before she can turn and walk out of the lift, Eve pushes up on her toes and places a brief kiss in the corner of Villanelle’s lips.

The action is so earnest and so unlike the Eve she has come to know that Villanelle is sure she is dreaming it all up as she walks out of the car.

She turns back for one last look as the doors close. Villanelle will always need another glance at Eve, she’s too self-indulgent not to steal one more.

While she watches the heavy metals doors slide together and close, Villanelle hears an exchange that causes her heart race and her already hopeful smile to grow.

“What’s the deal with you and… Villanelle,” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she hears Eve respond coyly.

_This is enough._

As she walks down the quiet hallway to her room and her feet glide over the hideously patterned carpet, Eve’s kiss lingers. It distracts Villanelle for several long minutes as she turns right down the next hallway and then another until it finally dawns on her that she is not actually on the correct floor. 

She exited the lift on Eve’s floor completely swept up in the haze of the night and cannot bring herself to care.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Stuffing the last top in her carry-on and pressing her palm and knee firmly against the hard plastic shell to bring the teeth of the zipper closer together, Villanelle quickly pulls the slider around the bag and stands it upright.

Then she walks over to her laptop, sends an email to Konstantin that contains her article and interview transcription with Eve. Finally, Villanelle shuts her computer down, tucks it into her shoulder bag and walks out of the room.

When the lift deposits her on the ground level, she winds her way through the hotel’s corridor until she reaches the restaurant. Villanelle has just enough time for a take-away coffee before her car arrives to take her to the airport.

After placing her order and taking a seat at one of the many unoccupied bar stools at the early hour, she pulls out her phone and sends a text to the WhatsApp chat with her brothers, asking for an update from Pyotr on the status of their case.

A now-familiar voice, one that slices at her eardrums, filters through the air as she swipes the app closed. She turns her head in search of the owner of the painful, awful voice and finds Niko Polastri angrily pacing back and forth in a hallway just outside of the restaurant.

Villanelle quickly spins around and gets up from her stool and makes her way toward Niko to better overhear at least half of his conversation. When she reaches the half-wall that separates the restaurant from the hotel and hallway, she crouches down below the glass at the top of the wall so that she remains out of sight.

“I don’t care anymore, Paul,” she hears Niko growl. “You were hired to do a job.”

After a moment of silence, Villanelle slowly peaks up through the glass to chance a look at Niko. His back is to her and he has moved further down the hall, but as soon as she begins to stand fully upright and take a few steps toward him again, Niko turns around and Villanelle instantly ducks down, dropping to her knees so that her designer plaid trousers touch the carpeted floor.

_The things I do for Eve._

“No. Your childish antics were not enough. You best figure out what it will take to get that winery back from my bitch of an ex-wife and that psycho she’s got round her now,” he snarls into his phone.

While she waits for the clacking sound of his shoes to fade further and further away, the gears begin to churn in Villanelle’s mind as she fumes in anger and considers what she can do to protect Eve from whatever treachery Niko is planning next.

Her thoughts drift back to the brief exchange they had last night on their way back to the hotel. Eve mentioned that Niko and Raymond were responsible for the degradation of the Polastri sparkling wines.

With an idea quickly forming, she takes out her phone and calls Konstantin.

He answers on the third ring.

“What is it Villanelle? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Konstantin, has the magazine been sent to the printer?”

“Not yet. It’s due this afternoon.”

Perfect.

“Why,” he asks skeptically.

“I will be sending you an updated version of my story. Do not submit next month’s issue until you hear from me.”

Before he can protest or question her, she ends the call and walks back to her bag with a fire swirling in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this fic! I cannot tell you all how much it has meant to me to read the comments or see the kudos you've left.
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this chapter, if you love it or hate it.
> 
> I had initially outlined this chapter as a NSFW chapter, but when I sat down to write it, the moment didn't feel earned. Plus, I didn't want to end it the way I knew I was going to if they did get together here.


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